#song came out twelve years ago i thought he was more recent than that

[galwaygremlin]

okay WHO was going to tell me the a team was by ed sheeran

[watchmegetobsessed]

Waiting for you - Harry Styles

❄️ FANFICmas 2020 ❄️

Read more about FANFICmas here!

i wrote it over like a month ago, but kept it for today, i hope yall will like it! it’s a cute bestfriends to lovers fic, so yeah... happy holidays, hope you are having an amazing time!

word count: 13k

masterlist

Harry Styles has been a household name around your home, but not for the reason many would think. While for the rest of the world he was the famous singer, former member of One Direction and recent solo artist, the guy who performs at the biggest arenas, wins awards and sings his heart out through the radio, for you and your mom he was the goofy, curly haired boy who lived across the street with his mum, sister and stepdad.

You still remember all too clear the first time you met him. You and your mum just moved into your new home after the nasty divorce of your parents, ready to start a new life. You’ve barely turned twelve, it was quite the awkward stage of your teenage years, you were still trying to find yourself on the rocky road of growing up. Moving to a whole new town and switching schools were terrifying and you had quite a few nightmares about possible outcomes of being the new girl in the neighborhood.

You and your mum just finished unpacking the dishes in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She rushed to answer it and you wandered behind her, curiously peeking at the guests under her arm as she held the door open.

“Hi! We saw the trucks and thought we would say hi! I’m Anne and this is my son, Harry,” the nice woman greeted your mum and stepping aside she gestured towards the teenage boy standing next to her.

His green eyes fell to you almost immediately and you forgot to breathe for a moment. You were not the kind to crush that easily on guys, well, not until you laid your eyes on Harry. He smirked at you, nodding in your way in such an easy-going manner and you could feel the heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks and ears.

Anne and your mum quickly became good friends. She was the rock your mum definitely needed after such a bad year behind her and you were glad she found support in such a wonderful woman as Anne. Their newly funded friendship got stronger day by day until the two families just… simply felt one.

Growing up the Styles siblings and Anne came and go in your home as if they lived there too. On many occasions you came home from school only to find Anne in the kitchen while your mother wasn’t even home. Anne always knew when your mum was working the night shift at the hospital where she was a nurse and always made sure you had a warm dinner on those evenings, often inviting you over to just stay at theirs while your mum was away working. Birthdays, graduations, Easters and Christmases, they were all spent at either yours or at the Styles home, strengthening the bond between the two families.

You have always had a strong friendship with Gemma, but maybe because you were closer in age or for something else, but you became the closest with Harry. Two peas in a pod, as your mums liked to call the two of you. You weren’t just neighbors or good friends, it was clear to anyone and to both of you as well that you were the best of friends. You were there for each other at the best and worst of times, before and after Harry’s launch to stardom. You were there with him all along, sometimes physically, sometimes just through text messages and reassuring calls when he just needed a piece of his home away from home. Late night calls and talks were your usual when he was on the road and he made sure to only talk about his life after you’ve told him everything about yours, even if the most interesting thing was that you were able to buy three socks for the price of two. Harry listened and cared for everything that happened to you, not letting you think even for a moment that he would forget about his best friend when he is on the other side of the planet.

The two of you grew up together and while his life consisted of concerts, screaming fans, telly appearances and award shows, your mundane everydays went on the same was as any normal young girl’s: you graduated from high school, went to uni and then started a career for yourself. As time was moving it became a little more and more complicated to stay as close as you used to, though, both of you terribly busy with your own personal lives, so the calls, texts and meetings became less frequent, but you were always able to pick up from where you left, it was as easy with him as it could be.

Maybe that’s why you grew to love him in a more than friendly way through the years. Slowly, but surely you started to realize what an amazing man he really was –is. It was impossible not to fall for him, however you valued your close friendship more than to just ruin it with dropping a bomb on Harry. You always thought he doesn’t feel the same way, so you were sadly left with your daydreams and fantasies about him only your bedroom walls heard.

This year it’s gonna be the tenth Christmas you get to celebrate together, quite the anniversary. There were only two years when you didn’t see each other during the holidays, the first one because you and your mum spent it in Canada with some relatives that live there, and the second one was because Harry couldn’t come home a few years ago, having a too tight schedule. But this year, everyone made sure to make it back home in time. Harry called you three month before Christmas to check in if you are still gonna coming home.

“Would be an idiot not to. Can’t wait to stuff my head with cookies!” you chuckled.

“Have you found your sweater yet?” Harry questioned, the muffled noise of the traffic around him broke through the line as he was on his way home when he called.

“Not yet. But I’ve been looking. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna win this year,” you smirked in victory.

“Oh, not so fast with the assumptions, little girl!” he warned you making you laugh.

The two of you had a kind of tradition. Every year, you go on mission to find the ugliest Christmas sweaters one could find, and then perform a chosen song at the karaoke machine after dinner, entertaining the rest of the family. Those performances are the best memories you nurse. Your absolute favorite one was just a couple of years ago when Harry’s sweater was filled with weird looking reindeers in quite inappropriate poses, he even added a glittery pair of sunnies and he sang I Want To Break Free from the Queen. Everyone was on the floor laughing as he took the living room by storm as if it was the Maddison Square Garden filled with thousands of screaming fans, while it was just the five of you.

He won that year, Hell, even you voted on him, giving him the cleanest win of all times, but you swore to live up to that performance and you really feel like this year is gonna be your chance to live up to that promise. You have quite some tricks up your sleeves.

These past couple of years you were anxiously waiting for the holidays to roll around, because you knew you would get to spend so much time with Harry and through the year, even with several occasions of the two of you meeting, you missed him dearly. Sometimes you selfishly wished he would have just stayed the boy across the street so your lives could take tracks that run at least close to each other, but you always reminded yourself that his work was his life and you would have never taken away his true passion and happiness. Besides, you love watching him perform from time to time, that was just one of your favorite sides of him, see his eyes shine so bright as he sang to his fans. You used to envy the fangirls, it always seemed like he had a special connection with them, but you realized that you were one of them. You felt the same excitement when he stepped on the stage, you bought all his albums, even though he made sure you’d be one of the first people to get your hands on it. You had a second copy of them, because buying it gave you the extra jolt of happiness and the feeling that you were a tiny part of his success too. You watched all his music videos, knew the lyrics to his songs and cheered on him whenever he won another award. Difference was that at the end of the day you could call him and tell him how proud you were of him and he stared back at you with that beautiful grin, his dimples digging deep in his cheeks, telling you that he wouldn’t be here without you. You always knew he just said it to make you feel special, but he insisted it was the truth.

“I’m telling you. It you weren’t with me I would have gone crazy already, pulling a Justin Bieber or summat. Don’t think you are any less than what you are, that’s just daft.”

Every time he said something along those lines those damned butterflies in your stomach went crazy and you tried your best to ignore them. You didn’t always succeed, but the effort was there.

 Now it’s two days before Christmas and you are already standing in your old room after coming home from London, leaving your small but cozy little apartment empty until the next year. The walls are still the same lilac color you chose when you were fourteen, a twin bed is pushed against the wall under your window, the wardrobe’s door is littered with old pictures from high school and ones you cut out from magazines. You just never got around to take them down and after a while it brought you a comforting sense every time you came home. A warm nostalgia took over you when you saw them, so they eventually stayed.

Your suitcase is lying on the floor as you unpack some stuff you’ll be using often during your stay, but you don’t get far in the packing when you hear an all too familiar voice coming from downstairs. Leaving your stuff as it is you rush down and throw your arms around Anne from behind, who is standing in the kitchen with your mum.

“My sweet angel! How are you?!” she cheers turning around in your hold to hug you back, giving you a tight squeeze before she pushes you away so she can have a good look on you. “Swear you get prettier every time I see you!”

“Stop it, my head’s gonna get big,” you chuckle feeling yourself blushing a little.

“Never gonna stop praising my daughter,” she smiles and gifts you with a cheeky wink.

Anne was never shy to let you know that she thought of you as a second daughter and you still remember how it felt when she called you that for the first time. It felt nice to know that you could count on her no matter what.

The three of you chat in the kitchen, Anne asks you about your job and how things have been going, she hasn’t seen you in a while. You missed the times when you could just go across the street and have a talk with her whenever you wanted, but since you’ve moved to London, Harry wasn’t the only one you didn’t get to see as often as you would have wanted. Your job and life overall got you so busy sometimes, you barely had time to call your own mum.

“Harry is arriving this evening. Wanna come with us to fetch him up at the airport?” she asks you and of course you say yes. You wouldn’t miss the chance to greet him with a bone crushing hug just after he lands.

However, as the time nears when you’d have to leave to the airport, Anne calls you up and asks if you could go on your own.

“I didn’t finish cooking and Gems is in an online meeting. Would you mind if you went alone?” she asks and though it sounds a little made up, you don’t question her.

On your way to the airport you are nervously drumming on the wheel, the thought of seeing Harry excites and worries you a little. It’s been months since you last seen him in the flesh and though you’ve talked plenty of times on the phone and in video calls, it’s just not the same. You find yourself wondering if he still smells the same, if you’ll fit the same way into his embrace as before. When you were younger you often liked to think about the two of you as two pieces of legos when you hugged. Your frame just fitted so perfectly against his body, he was your absolutely favorite person to hug.

Standing in a corner at the terminal, you keep checking the board until his flight’s status changes to landed. Then your eyes are glued to the sliding glass doors, knowing well it’s gonna take him some time to get his bags and walk out, but you are just way too excited to finally see him again.

People start walking through the doors and your head perks up every time you see a slightly tall frame, only to realize it’s still not him. Until it is.

You can’t bite your growing smile back when you spot him, a beanie and the hood of his hoodie covering his mop of hair, sunnies hiding his eyes, but you’d recognize him even from just the tiniest detail. You push yourself away from the wall as you see him look around, probably searching for his mum and sister, because he was already on his way when Anne decided it’s gonna be you who fetches him up, so he doesn’t know about the change.

“Excuse me, can I get a picture?” you ask teasingly walking up to him and for a moment you can tell he believes it’s a fan who recognized him, but his face quickly changes once his eyes land on you.

“Fo’ fuck’s sake, you had me for a second,” he breathes out, his arms already reaching out to pull you against him and you gladly envelop yourself into his hold. “What are you doing here?” he mumbles tightening his arms around you, and you don’t mind it. As you face is pressed into his shoulder you smile when you realize that he still smells the same. Like home.

“Your mum asked me to come and get you because she didn’t finish cooking. But if you ask me she just wanted to surprise you with me. You happy to see me?” you smirk up at him letting your head fall back so you could look into his eyes.

“Always,” he grins before placing a soft kiss to your temple and letting go of you.

The two of you leave the terminal before anyone could recognize him and packing his stuff up into the car you head back home.

You hand your phone over to him once you hit the road so he can be in charge of the music and it’s no surprise when he starts playing Christmas music straight away. Grinning to yourself you glance over at him and see him scrolling through your camera roll like the nosy little gremlin that he is.

“Hey! I did not give you permission to snoop around my phone!” you warn him, but don’t try to snatch it away from him, there’s really nothing he shouldn’t see, besides, half of those pics have been sent to him through messages.

“Just tryna catch up w’ you,” he mumbles under his breath, continuously opening up photos he is interested in. “New couch, eh?” he asks showing you the screen for a second.

“Yeah, bought it a few weeks ago. You like it?”

“Looks comfy. I should try it out sometime.”

“You never sleep on my couch, what are you talking about?”

“Right, you always drag me t’ your bed,” he snorts and you gasp at him, smacking his chest gently.

“That’s so not true! You always just arbitrarily make yourself comfortable in my bed and I don’t have the heart to kick you out,” you correct him.

There hasn’t been many times when Harry crashed at your place, but when he did, he always slept in your bed with you, and the two of you have shared a bed a few other times prior too. It’s nothing new, though it does have a deeper meaning for you than for him, you think. Waking up with Harry snoring lightly next to you, admiring how peaceful and beautiful he is in this intimate state, you just wish you could see him like this all the time.

Harry smirks at you cheekily, scrunching his nose as he chuckles.

“’Cause I wouldn’t want to sleep anywhere else, Love,” he says before turning his attention back to your phone while you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the nickname.

It’s quite late by the time you get home, you’ve run into some traffic, but it just meant more time with Harry. You gladly listened to his stories and you are happy you got some alone time with him. Parking up to your driveway you help him unload his bags before locking the car.

“Wanna go to the Christmas market in the morning? Promised Gemma I’d go with her and Michal,” he asks, slowly walking down the driveway towards his home.

“Uh, sure,” you nod smiling. Not that you had any other plans, the holidays are reserved for family and the Styles’ are family.

“Great, I’ll be here at ten. And thanks for the ride,” he smirks waving goodbye and you watch him cross the street before he disappears in his home and you do the same.

“Y/N? Is that you?” your mum calls out when you walk in.

“Were you expecting anyone else?” you ask, hanging your coat before you join her in the living room.

“Not,” she smiles giddily. “Was everything alright at the airport?”

You throw your legs over her lap and she squeezes your ankles playfully.

“Yeah, everything fine.”

“How is Harry?”

“Cheeky and smug, as always,” you huff smirking.

“Can’t wait to see him. I feel like I haven’t seen ‘im in ages.”

“When are they coming over tomorrow?”

“Anne said she’ll come around four to help me cook, the rest I don’t know. Dinner will be done around seven though.”

“I’m pretty sure Gemma and Harry will be here along with Anne,” you snort, knowing well they wouldn’t miss a chance to come over, especially Harry. He has been talking nonstop how he’ll be glued to your hip once he is back home, making up for all the time you’ve spent apart.

“They surely will,” your mum chuckles before you both turn your attention at the telly.

You go to bed way after midnight and finish up the packing you left abruptly when you left to get Harry. Shuffling around in your room you glance out the window and see that the light in Harry’s room is on too. Peeking out you lean against the window’s frame, thinking about the times when the two of you sat in the window, talking on the phone after curfew, keeping your voice down so your parents didn’t wake up, sharing secrets and your silliest thoughts. With Harry, you never felt like you had to keep anything back, he would have never judged you for anything, you could be your true self around him and vice versa.

A tall figure appears at the window and as Harry glances out his window he is quick to see you sitting on the window sill, your head resting against the frame. The two houses are not far away from each other and you see him grinning as he sits at the window as well, pulling out his phone, a moment later yours starts buzzing on the nightstand. You quickly grab it, and go back to the window.

“Creeping on me, eh?” he hums into the phone and you roll your eyes at him.

“Was just admiring the street lights, don’t flatter yourself, your head is getting too big,” you huff, but you can’t push your smirk down.

“Admit it, you were hoping to see me roam around naked, weren’t you?”

“As if I haven’t seen you like that before,” you snort making him laugh too. It’s true, Harry has never been shy to get rid of his clothes and he also doesn’t bother to draw the blinds whenever he is changing. You once saw him butt naked when he was nineteen, and when you told him to close the blinds next time he is changing, he just shrugged with a smug smile.

“’M not ashamed of anything, Love,” he told you and you had to turn away because you were blushing for sure.

“Right, you’re a fan of putting yourself on full display when you’re naked, almost forgot,” you chuckle shaking your head. “Millions of girls have the picture of you, lying naked on their walls.”

“You one of them?” he cheekily asks.

“Nah, doesn’t go well with the vibe of my apartment.”

“Shame. Though I think it would definitely look amazin’ above your bed, Love.”

“Now would it? I don’t know about that.”

“I’ll get you a copy framed,” he smirks and you can see it clear even from the distance. “Y’ know what? I’ll make you an exclusive one. One that nobody else has, how does that sound?”

“I can’t believe you, Styles,” you chuckle shaking your head. “I’m not gonna answer this, just gonna head to bed. You should too.”

“So we’re not sharing any secrets like we used to? Thought you’d have something fo’ me.”

“You know everything, Harry,” you sigh with a soft smile, though your heart skips a beat. He does know everything, except one big, fat, heavy secret you’ve been carrying around for way too long, that will probably stay with you forever.

“Right. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Night, Harry.”

“Good night, Love,” he murmurs and you know he is smiling, thought he steps away from the window as he says goodbye and you do the same before ending the call.

 ***

 “Hey! That’s mine!” you protest as Harry steals another roasted chestnut from your little paper bag, but you can’t stay mad at him when he is smiling at you so sweetly.

“Sorry, tastes better when it’s someone else’s.”

“Sure,” you snort and just let him get as many as he wants. You wouldn’t have eaten it all anyway.

It’s quite cold out in the town, but at least there’s no rain or storm, so the weather didn’t try to ruin your little trip to the Christmas market.

Gemma calls out for Harry to show him something and you just keep wandering between the booths, enjoying the atmosphere quite a lot, you have no idea when was the last time you got to come to the market, though you always loved coming when you were younger.

Finishing up your chestnuts you throw the paper bag into a trash can and turn around to find the rest of your little group, spotting Harry and Gemma deep in discussion next to a booth that offers handmade ceramic mugs. As you walk closer it almost seems like as if they were having a fight, which is just odd, they rarely do that.

“Just get your head out of your arse!” you catch Gemma telling her brother who only groans in frustration before he spots you, a smile plastering across his face.

“Hey, there you are!” he beams.

“Everything alright?” you ask looking at them.

“Sure, just Gemma is being a little nosy, is all,” Harry waves in dismiss. You glance over to Gems, but she is already back in discussion with Michal so you decide to drop it. “You ate all the chestnuts?” Harry asks offended, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Well, it was mine, so of course I ate them!”

“Selfish,” he narrows his eyes at you, but you both know it’s just a joke.

You walk further down in the aisle, occasionally stopping at some of the booth when you spot a place that offers hot chocolate in cute little mugs that you can take home with you if you’d like, or just take it back and get your money back.

“Oh look!” you gasp excitedly and head towards the hot chocolate booth. The old lady smiles brightly at the two of you as you take a look at all the choices. “Oh my god, they have caramel flavored!” you cheer, basically already drooling at the thought of a good, caramel flavored hot chocolate.

“What can I get for the lovely couple?” the lady smiles warmly at the two of you and you freeze at her assumption.

“Oh we—“ you start, but Harry cuts you off.

“A caramel flavored and a plain one, please,” he orders, without even batting an eye about how the lady just called you a couple. You can feel your cheeks heating up at the thought, but you try to calm yourself. He probably just didn’t want to get into explaining that you two are not an item and let her think what she wanted.

The nice lady hands you your mug and you take Harry’s as well as he pays for both of them. You would try to argue with him and pay yours, but you are already used to how stubborn he is and he never lets you split anything, it’s always on him.

“Thank you, have a nice day!” Harry calls out to the lady before the two of you leave. You peek at him handing him his mug, looking for any clue that would give away if this little scene got him just as bothered as it did you, but he looks perfectly fine and relaxed, so you decide not to bring it up. You’re sure he didn’t think much of it.

Your little stroll stretches into the afternoon, the four of you decide to have lunch out there too, then you just opt for a walk in town as Gemma wants to do a quick last minute Christmas shopping, so by the time you get home Anne is already over at yours helping your mum with dinner. Tonight you are all eating at yours, then tomorrow it’s the Styles’ turn to host, this is how you agreed this year.

“Woah, it smells amazing!” you call out walking into the house. The delicious smells fill up the whole place and you hear the two women giggling in the kitchen.

“Hi Honey, how was the market?” your mum greets you, a glass of red wine in her hand and the same goes for Anne.

“Great, we have a new mug,” you say holding up the emptied out hot chocolate mug. Stepping to the sink you wash it quickly and drying off you put it away in one of the cabinets.

You stick around in the kitchen and not so much later Harry comes over, the two of you leave your mums alone and get comfortable in front of the telly.

All channels are filled with holiday movies and you don’t mind, really, you like them all even if you’ve seen them a million times, you still find them funny and cute. Harry feels the same way, so when you settle on Love Actually he doesn’t say a word.

What startles you is that he grabs your ankles and pulls your legs over his lap, a small shriek escaping your mouth since you weren’t expecting him to do that. You’re sitting sideways, your legs are bent at the knee and Harry is kind of hugging them as his eyes are glued to the screen.

You find it rather hard to focus on the movie when Harry’s fingers keep fidgeting on your legs, they keep running up and down, sometimes he lays his hands flat on your knees, there’s no spot he hasn’t touched since you started watching the movie.

About an hour into the film he turns to you and you look at him in question.

“’M in the mood to cuddle,” he announces and starts moving around, not even letting you protest as he basically crawls to your lap, resting his head on your stomach as the two of you lay on the couch.

“Am I now your personal pillow?” you ask chuckling, but you wouldn’t want him to move for anything. Feeling him weigh down on you just feels so warm and simple but amazing.

“The best one,” he mumbles, bringing a hand to your side as you let your fingers comb through his curls.

You keep massaging his scalp and he lets out soft moans when you go over a soft spot, you can’t help but chuckle as he melts under your hands. His fingers start drawing circles on your side and the movie is long forgotten by you, all you can focus on is how great it is to have Harry so close to you. He is known to be a physical person, you are used to hugs and touches, but it seems like he is a little needier now than the usual.

You don’t mind it though, you just try to enjoy the moment, because it can end anytime.

Gemma and Michal come over a little before seven, and while your mums finish up the cooking the four of you set the table. You grab the crystal glasses and start placing them to the table, Harry lending you a hand. Once the table is all set you shuffle into the kitchen to see if there’s anything you can help with, Harry following you behind, placing a hand to the small of your back.

As you stand and wait for you mum to finish up the meals so you can help carry them to the table you feel Harry’s hand wander over to your hip, giving it a squeeze as he stands closer, so his chest is pressed against your back.

“Harry?” you ask a little out of breath.

“Hm?” he innocently hums.

“What’s with you today?” Turning your head to the side your eyes lock with his, but he just shrugs smiling.

“Guess I just missed yeh a lot.”

“You’re weird,” you chuckle shaking your head, but don’t make an effort to push him away. His touch feels way too good to put an end to it and you just want to be selfish a little longer.

His hands leave you when the two of you help to bring the food to the table, and you almost wish they would just return, but you gotta swallow the thought.

The food is amazing, as always. You all sip on some wine, just having a genuinely good time, enjoying that all of you are back at one place, something that rarely happens now that all three of you kids are all grown up.

At one point Harry rests his arm on the back of your chair, no one seems to notice but you. All these little things have been driving you crazy all day and your mind seems to be playing a nasty game with you. There’s no way Harry thinks of these details more than what they are, a friendly gesture towards an old friend of his.

When Gemma is telling a story about some weird guy she met at work Harry reaches up and pushes your hair behind your ear, his finger lingering over your neck a little longer than you would have expected. Turning to face him you give him a questioning look, not sure what to think about his needy and touchy self all of a sudden.

“What?” you mouth him, but he just smiles at you absentmindedly, curling a strand of hair around his finger, playing with it for a moment before letting go of it and going for another lock. You reach up and pull his hand away, feeling yourself heating up from his touch, but when you are about to let go of his hand he grabs yours, lacing your fingers together with yours as he rests them on his thigh.

“Harry…” you breathe out, glancing at the others, relieved to see that they are not paying much attention to the two of you.

“What? Am I not allowed to touch you?” he asks with a smug smirk and you roll your eyes at him.

“As I said, you’re weird,” you mumble under your breath looking down at your now empty plate. Harry gives your hand a squeeze.

“But like, the good kind of weird, yeah?”

“Shut up,” you chuckle shaking your head at him.

You try to tell yourself he is just needy because it’s been so long since you last saw each other. It can’t be more, you push even the smallest thought to the back of your mind, though it surely lingers there throughout the evening.

He helps you with washing the dishes, you stand arm to arm at the sink as you scrub the plates and hand over to him for drying. He gently hums to himself all along, swaying his hips, bumping against yours. At first you resist it, but then you catch the rhythm and start moving along, so your hips meet in the middle before swinging to the opposite side.

“What’s the song?” you ask finishing up the last plate.

“Just something random,” he shrugs smirking over at you. You hand him the last plate, he is still singing, making up gibberish lyrics to his song and once he puts the plate down he throws the kitchen cloth to the counter and easily grabs your waist pulling you against him as he starts swaying with you to his impromptu song. You let out a small shriek at the sudden movement, but eventually melt into his hold. The humming slowly turns into an all too familiar melody as Harry starts singing Sweet Creature into your ear, slow dancing in the kitchen while you hear your mums and Gemma laugh outside somewhere.

Your hands run up his arms and stop behind his neck as you lock your fingers and let him hold you close, his palms are pressed to your waist, fingers gently stroking you through the fabric of your shirt. You take a deep breath and his cologne fills your nose, one of your favorite scents, sometimes you just wish you could spray it on your pillow so it would always smell like him.

“Sweet creature, wherever I go, you bring me home…” he softly sings, leaning back just enough for your eyes to meet. It feels like your heart is about to burst out of your chest, it’s not the first time you feel so intimidated by him, like you could pass out any moment, but this is a little different. As if his eyes were telling you another story, but you can’t completely make up the words.

“Sweet creature, when I run out of road, you bring me home, you’ll bring me home.” He finishes the song, hums the closing melody and you watch him in complete awe. Your lips part when you catch his gaze move down to them and you swear you see him leaning closer, as if he is about to kiss you. Your breath gets caught in your throat, he is so close, just a few more inches and you’d taste those perfect lips of his, the ones you’ve been dreaming about for way too long.

It almost happens, it seems, but just when that last push is about to set in Gemma waltz into the kitchen and you step back faster than light, pushing him away even though the sudden lack of his touch is more painful than you were expecting.

“You guys—Oh, what’s up?” she asks stopping at the door and you feel yourself getting redder with each passing moment, the heat crawling up your neck, ears cheeks, right to the top of your head. What were you thinking? You let yourself believe Harry would ever kiss you, this whole scene was nothing more than just a friendly moment the two of you were sharing.

“I’m—sorry,” you breathe out making your way out of the kitchen, right up to your room to have some well needed space.

“Way to ruin everything,” Harry snickers at his sister.

“You joking? You wanted to kiss her in her mum’s kitchen?” Gemma snaps at him in disbelief.

“We were having a moment,” he mumbles rubbing his face with his hands. “Up until you stomped in with your big mouth.”

“Well, if you were havin’ a moment, just make it happen again.”

“As if it’s that easy, Gemma!” he scoffs throwing his hands in the air.

“Man up and tell her how you feel, don’t have to complicate it too much,” she shrugs before walking out and leaving her brother alone. Harry growls in frustration, the gears in his head turning wildly as he is trying to figure out how to come clear to you about his feelings.

 Meanwhile, up in your room you get out your laptop and busy yourself with checking up on messages and emails you’ve been ignoring, hoping that the uneasy feeling in your chest will ease very soon. Your hands were shaking when you locked yourself up in your room, but as you get focused on other tasks you slowly gain your balance back.

You kind of even forget that the Styles’ were over, you only realize that you abruptly pulled yourself out of the evening when there’s a soft knock on your door.

“Come on in!” you call out and a moment later Harry’s head pops in, eyes softly falling on your sitting figure on the bed. “Hey,” you smile at him faintly.

“Hey. Thought you were sleepin’s or summat.” Coming inside he closes the door behind him then sits on your plush rug in the middle of the room.

“Just… sorted some work related things out,” you sigh.

“Working during the holidays? Tha’s not healthy.”

“I know, I’m done,” you smile shutting the laptop down and putting it aside. “Sorry I disappeared, I just—“

“No worries,” Harry shakes his head. “Mum and Gems went home, they thought you were sleeping too, tha’s why they didn’t say goodbye.”

“Oh, alright.”

“But I thought we could have a sleepover,” he peeks at you with a boyish smile.

“What, like we did in middle school?” you chuckle.

“Yea, thought it would be fun.”

“Well, I don’t think my bed would fit us comfortably and we don’t have the mattress anymore that you used to sleep on,” you tell him looking around.

“Nonsense, I’m not tha’ big,” he insists hopping to his feet and throwing himself on the bed, ignoring that you’re already there. His body takes up more than half on the bed , limbs wrapping around you as he brings you down to the mattress next to him, you can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips.

“You’re like a gigantic baby, Harry!” you laugh as he keeps you down on the bed with his arm.

“It’s perfectly fine for two people,” he mumbles with a smirk, closing his eyes as his head sinks into your pillow.

“Do you ever get no as an answer?” you ask looking at him in awe. You can never get used to seeing him so up close, like not many get to.

“No,” he huffs in satisfaction, his arm bringing you closer to him and you just giggle at him.

“I’m not sleeping just yet, gotta have a shower first.”

“Do what you want, I’ll be here,” he mumbles but you snort at him.

“You’re not sleeping in my bed without having a shower,” you tell him before you grab your pajamas and head to the bathroom.

You have a quick shower and get done with all your evening business. Returning to your room you find Harry sitting on the floor, his back against the side of the bed as he is scrolling through his phone.

“Does mum know you’re staying over?” you ask him as you throw your used clothes into the hamper, moving around the room while feeling his eyes on you.

“Yeah. ‘S all good.”

“You need a towel?”

“Yes please,” he says pushing himself up from the floor.

“Clothes?” you ask with an arched brow. He just grins at you and it’s enough of an answer. “Here,” you give him the shirt and sweats he has left at yours quite some time ago, along with a clean towel.

“Thanks,” he smirks before leaving to occupy the bathroom.

He doesn’t take long in there, you’re lying in bed already when he returns, smelling like your shower gel, strawberry and melon.

He throws his clothes to the chair in the corner and then lies beside you on the bed. You scoot over to the wall to give him space, but he is quick to bring you closer to him once he has made himself comfortable. You lay your head on his shoulder as you are both scrolling through your phones.

When you had enough, you throw yours to the nightstand, and stay cuddled up to his side.

“Do you remember the last time I slept here?” he asks tossing his phone to the nightstand and bringing his arms around you.

“Mm, was it at my twentieth birthday?”

“Yeah. You were so wasted,” he chuckles and you smirk to yourself

“But you took good care of me.”

“I did. You were so cute, rambling about how much you love me when I took you home from the pub.”

You bite into your bottom lip. You still remember that night vividly. Your birthday party had gone a little wild and you had gotten drunker than you intended to. Luckily, he was there to bring your home and he stayed in the bathroom with you as you threw up everything you ate and drank that evening. Then he made you take a shower, got you fresh clothes out and helped you get into bed. He slept next to you that night, holding you in his arms, gently caressing your back and upper arm as you fell into your drunken slumber. In the morning you told yourself he just did what any other friend would do, helping you out when you were clearly knocked out, but he made you breakfast in the morning since your mum was working all night and morning and he stayed over later the afternoon to make sure you were alright.

What you told him in your drunken state about loving him, it wasn’t just your friendly side, it was your drunken self coming clear to him, telling him that you are in love with him, but he didn’t take it seriously and you were too ashamed and awkward to even bring it up to him after that, so it was all forgotten very soon.

Following that you planned on telling him how you feel, several times. You even wrote a little speech you planned to give him when the time comes, but you couldn’t do it. The fear of losing him if he doesn’t feel the same was stronger than you expected and every time you had the chance to come clear, you chickened out. The thought of losing him as a friend is way worse than having to push your feelings down... forever. You just can’t imagine your life without Harry in it and you can’t risk losing him.

The two of you talk for quite a while, laughing about the good old times, until you both fall asleep. Sometime in the middle of the night you wake up and feel Harry wrapped around you, his head lying on your chest as he is snoring softly. He truly is like a big baby, an arm thrown over your stomach, his legs tangled with yours. Good Lord, how amazing it feels to have him so close to you!

Reaching up you tangle your fingers through his hair gently so he doesn’t wake up, his soft curls glide between your fingers easily and lifting your head you kiss the top of his head before letting yourself drift back to sleep.

When you open your eyes the next time the situation is the opposite, you are the one cuddled up to Harry’s side who is scrolling through his phone with one hand, keeping the other one on your arm.

“Mornin’, sleepy head,” he chuckles softly when he sees you awake.

“Mmm, what time is it?” you ask letting your head rest on his chest a little longer.

“Quarter to nine. You can sleep a little more if you want, it’s not that late.”

“No, I promised mum I’d help her wrap gifts,” you sigh rolling over to your stomach as you push yourself up to your elbows to look at him. “Love the double chin you got going there,” you tease him sleepily and he just smirks.

“Yea? Quite cute, right? Worked a lot on it,” he jokes running his finger over it before letting out a chuckle. “Ready for our battle today?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. You are going down this year, Styles,” you tell him pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Harry only pushes himself further on the bed enough to rest his head against the headboard.

“Oh really? I wouldn’t be that sure about tha’,” he warns you, but you are feeling pretty confident about your performance this year. There’s no way he can top it.

“We’ll see. Alright, I need a coffee. Want something for breakfast?” you ask him crawling out of the bed.

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

Your mum is already in the kitchen, sipping on her morning coffee while reading the paper. She doesn’t find it even a bit weird that Harry spent the night at yours, it’s been quite the usual for you. Harry helps you make eggs and bacon and the three of you eat together, having a lovely time and you genuinely feel like it’s just like in the good old times when you were still living home and Harry wasn’t Harry Styles, but the boy from across the street.

He goes home after breakfast to help his own mum with the cooking for tonight’s dinner and you don’t do much for the rest of the day, just spend time with your mum, watch movies and relax. It’s nice to unwind after such a busy year behind you.

Not long before five you go to take a shower and get ready to head over to the Styles’ and you pack everything you’ll need for the evening: gifts, ugly sweater, accessories. Harry is going down this year for sure.

It’s a little past six when you and your mum walk across the street, Anne’s Christmas lights are putting the little town house into the spirit for sure. You don’t even ring the bell, just walk straight in, like you always do. The Christmas tree stands tall in their living room and the table is already nicely set. Gemma and Michal are snuggled up on the couch while Harry is helping Anne in the kitchen with the finishing touches.

“I’m rooting for you this year,” Gemma winks at you when you set down your bag in the corner that has everything you’ll need for your performance.

“He’s gonna lose this round,” you smirk proudly, very sure in yourself.

Harry greets you with a bright smile and a tight hug when he walks into the living room, as if you didn’t just see each other a few hours earlier.

When the food is ready you all sit down to eat, and though you’re trying your best to focus on the conversation, you’re getting excited about tonight’s karaoke battle.

“Anxious much?” Harry asks you quietly.

“Why are you asking?”

He doesn’t answer, just places a hand to your thigh stopping it from shaking, making you realize you’ve been probably bouncing it all along. He smirks at you as you just roll your eyes at him.

“’S okay, you can handle one more year of losing,” he teases you and you give him an arched eyebrow.

“Don’t be so full of yourself, Harry,” you warn him, but he just squeezes your thigh again before bringing his hands back up to the table, leaving you a little breathless with his touch.

You all help clean up the table after dinner and when it’s done, you gather in the living room to open gifts.

When Harry’s career launched, the first few years you felt anxious about gifting him, because you felt like you couldn’t give him enough. He had all the money and bought everything he needed for himself, there wasn’t much you could give him. But when one time, you admitted to him this struggle of yours he assured you that it doesn’t matter what you give him, it’ll always be precious to him.

“You thought about me, you took the time to buy something for me, and that’s more than enough, Y/N,” he told you and though it took you time, but you got used to it. Especially when you saw the same excitement in his eyes every time you gifted something to him, you slowly but surely realized he wasn’t expecting a Gucci suit, but a thoughtful gesture.

Gathering in the living room you open the presents one by one and just as always, everyone was quite creative with the gifts. You can’t help but still feel a little anxious when Harry grabs his gift from you. Giving you an excited look he unties the little bow on the top and tears the wrapping paper off.

“Y/N!” he breathes out, eyes softening as he pulls the knitted cardigan out of the box.

“I always saw you wearing all sorts of cardigans and so I finally had a reason to learn how to knit, so I thought I would make one for you,” you ramble as he holds up the baby blue cardigan that has little daisies all over the front. It took you an entire week to just make the daisies, you worked on the whole cardigan for more than two months, usually in the middle of the night, staying up until unholy hours to finish in time.

But Harry’s smile is worth it all, he is beaming, clearly so in love with what you made him, so you breathe out relieved. He then puts it aside and wraps his arms around you pulling you into the tightest hug.

“Thank you, I love it so much,” he mumbles and kisses your temple and you breathe in his sweet scent, burying yourself in his embrace, hugging his waist.

When you part, Harry reaches for a box from under the tree and hands it to you, a nervous smile tugging on his lips. You can tell he wrapped the gift himself, the silver wrapping paper is a little uneven, but the huge rainbow colored bow on the top is the perfect touch that makes it like a piece of him.

You carefully tear the paper off, peeking inside you just see a plain box that doesn’t give much away. Glancing up at Harry you see how he is anxiously biting his bottom lip, even though you’d be happy with a gift as small as a candle. It’s the thought that counts.

“I-I wasn’t sure if this was the one you mentioned to me, so I hope it’s gonna be alright,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on your hands as they open the box, while you try to think back what you have told him about that caught his attention, but you just can’t recall what you wanted to get so badly you told Harry about it.

As you open the box you don’t process what it is immediately, the plastic wrapper making it hard to figure it out, but when you carefully pull out the object, you gasp in surprise.

“Harry!” you breathe out as you pull off the plastic of the old, vintage polaroid camera. It’s not one of these new types you can buy in stores easily, this is a classic, must have quite a history behind it.

Now you vaguely remember talking about longing for an oldschool, vintage camera, but it was months ago and you’ve forgotten about the whole thing since these devices cost a fortune because there aren’t many left from them. But now there’s one in your hands, because Harry not only listened to you, but he remembered and went out of his way to find you one in amazing condition.

“This must have cost a fortune!” you huff, your heart pounding in your chest, though you already know it doesn’t matter to him.

“This face is worth every penny,” he smiles at you softly before you throw yourself at him for another round of hugging. This man surely knows how to have you wrapped around his fingers.

The two of you sit on the floor as you figure out how to make the camera work, Harry bought everything needed, so you have a few packs of films as well. When it’s all done you bring it up to your face and aim it at Harry. It takes him a moment to realize that you’re about to snap your first photo and he tries to snatch the camera away, but it’s too late, the flash goes off and the device pushes out the undeveloped picture.

“You wasted your first snap on me?” he protests rubbing his eyes after the flash blinded him for a little.

“It’s not a waste,” you tell him as you patiently wait for the picture to finally appear.

Slowly, the colors start to show and in a couple of minutes Harry’s face appears, his hand reaching in the direction of the camera, looking out of focus, only his face appearing clearly. He looks so delicate, his eyes dazzling as a soft smile plays on his lips. This moment now will live forever not just in your mind, but on this photo.

 Harry goes out with his karaoke performance this year for sure and you’d be actually anxious about him winning if only you didn’t have the absolutely best performance right in your pocket.

His sweater this year features some really ugly looking penguins and a horroristic reindeer on the back, it’s really ugly and you can’t even imagine who thought it would be fine to make it and then sell it. His choice of music is also excellent, he has a great eye for songs you’d never imagine him perform and then shock everyone with it. This year, he chose Rude Boy by none other than Rihanna, and it’s fantastic, no one can make it through the song without crying. Harry makes sure to put on his best show, even dancing and twerking unapologetically, trying everything to win the battle and you are amazed by his effort. Above all the fun and jokes, he nails the song, that’s undeniable. It always baffles you how he can just slay any and all genres, even the ones that stand a million miles away from his style.

When the song is over, you all cheer for him, because he truly deserves it. He grins down at you in victory, but you just give him a challenging smirk.

“You can just give up now, if you want,” he teases you as you stand up from the couch and the two of you trade places.

“Oh, I think you should be the one to worry about losing,” you warn him grabbing your bag. Stepping to Gemma you whisper into her ear, instructing her to put on your song when you call out from the bathroom, since you are planning on do a grandiose entrance. When she hears what song you’ll be singing she gasps.

“Oh my fucking God, no way!” he looks at your with wide eyes.

“What? What is it?” Harry asks, dying to know what you just told his sister, but you shake your head at him.

“Patience,” you tell him before locking yourself up in the bathroom.

This year, you didn’t find the sweater, the sweater found you. On one of your thrift tours, you were digging up a huge pile of clothes when you came right across it and you knew what you needed to do.

Putting on the sweater you fix up your hair quickly before putting on your party glasses, the one that lights up if you switch it on. You take one last look at yourself in the mirror and smirk at your reflection knowing well you’ll have everyone dead when you walk out.

“Gemma! You can start it!” you call out with your hand on the doorknob, waiting to hear the music. Gemma quickly starts in and you haven’t even stepped out, you can hear a round of gasps.

Best Song Ever blasts through the speakers and you walk out trying your best to imitate a younger version of Harry, wearing the absolute ugliest Christmas sweater ever, that has the faces of One Direction all over it, filling up every inch of the fabric, and all of them have poorly photoshopped Santa hats on, it’s just literal trash and ridiculously perfect for the battle.

You grab the mic and start singing as everyone screams in the room. You jump, sing and even do the dance moves the boys do in the original music video, and when you look at Harry you see him staring at you in disbelief and total defeat. Everyone knows you won, nothing can top this performance ever and you could burst from the sweet feeling of victory.

By the end of the song everyone is up on their feet dancing and singing with you, a mini party forming in the middle of the living room and you all scream the last lines as the song comes to its end.

“I think we don’t even need to vote this time,” you say when the music stops, everyone screaming in agreement while Harry stares down at you, trying to hide his growing smirk.

“Where did you even find this?” he asks chuckling as he takes a better look at the sweater.

“At a thrift store, it called out my name, knew it’d be perfect.”

“It really is ugly, if I’m being honest,” he sighs, his eyes meeting yours again. “And the song… I accept defeat, you earned this victory, Y/N,” he tells you bowing and admitting your victory.

 Later that night everyone is so keen on watching Holiday, you agree to stay even though you feel your eyelids heavily weighing down, threatening to close with each passing moment. You let your head rest on Harry’s shoulder and he presses his cheek against the crown of your head.

It’s not a surprise you fall asleep halfway into the movie, but what you weren’t expecting is to wake up and find yourself not on the couch anymore, but in Harry’s bed. It’s dark, only the moon is shining through his windows and as you turn to the right you see that he is sleeping peacefully next to you on his back, one arm spread next to him, hand hanging from the edge, the other one resting on his stomach, rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

Squinting your eyes you look at the digital clock on his dresser, it reads 3:23 am so you’ve been asleep for quite a few hours now. You don’t even remember him bringing you up here, but you’re definitely not mad that he didn’t bring you home, just up to his room.

Rolling to your side you give yourself a moment to adorn his beauty without fearing he would catch your wandering eyes. Everything seems so perfect about him, the line of his nose, his cupid’s bow that delicately rolls into her lips. The crease between his eyebrows, his soft skin on his cheeks, down his neck that runs into his broad shoulders and inked, strong arms. You truly think there’s no man that could compare to him and you are lucky enough to live your life so close to him, be able to touch him, hear his voice whenever you miss him, see his smile and share a connection with him.

It’s so silly, but you think of him as your personal ray of sunshine in your life. Just the smallest things about him can brighten your worst day, he’ll always have a special place in your heart, no matter where life takes the two of you.

Watching him sleeping you allow yourself to break free from your doubts and fears and scooting closer you shyly curl up to his side, your head resting on his shoulder, but you can’t even make yourself comfortable before you feel him moving under you.

Sucking on your breath you think he’ll push you away, not wanting you so close, but instead, he pulls his arm from under you, curling around your frame as he pulls you tight to him, almost making you lie on top of him. Your whole body is pressed against him and you mingle a leg between his long ones under the soft sheets. You let out a long huff at the warm touch of his body against your skin, completely lost in him.

“You alright?” he mumbles in his sleep laced voice, his eyes remain closed.

“Yeah. Is this okay?” you nervously ask as you lay your hand flat on his stomach. He brings his hand that was hanging from the bed on his other side and covers yours, as he squeezes you tight to his side.

“’M all yours,” he breathes out, his words sending a shiver down your spine. You’re sure he didn’t mean it like that, but it warmed your heart to hear it from him and you let your mind play with the thought that there was more behind his words than a friendly manner.

Nuzzling your head into his chest you close your eyes and listening to his steady heartbeat you let yourself fall back asleep.

 Your morning is filled with coffee, pancakes, laughter and great company. Harry doesn’t let you leave without having breakfast with them, so you sit with the Styles family and laugh about the craziest stories from your teenage years.

“Remember when we tried to run away?” Harry grins at you, his red mug that had white polka dots all over it in his hands as he eyes you.

“Oh, how could I forget that?” you huff and Gemma turns to you with surprise in her eyes.

“Wait, I didn’t know about that!”

“Because we didn’t get too far,” Harry laughs. “We were, what, like fifteen?”

“Yeah, it was a few weeks after my fifteenth birthday,” you nod smiling.

“I had a fight with mum about God knows what, then stormed over to Y/N’s and talked her into running away. So we packed our backpacks and left.”

“Where did you go?” Michal asks with an amused grin as he listens to the story.

“We didn’t want to go into town, running into anyone we know, so we thought we would just go straight out to the meadow that’s there,” Harry says gesturing towards the window. The edge of the town is not so war, and a huge meadow lies there, a little stream running across it. “We walked for quite long, but then it started to get dark and we had nowhere to go, so we just ended up coming back home. No one even noticed we were gone, they thought we just went out to bike or something,” he finishes laughing.

“You knew about this?” Gemma asks Anne.

“Yeah, he came clear the next day, thinking he would piss me off with it, but I didn’t care, he came back for dinner, so it was alright,” Anne explains laughing.

It’s been so long since it happened, but I still remember it vividly, only that it was a more dramatic memory back then, now I can only laugh at it.

“We should go for a walk today,” Harry prompts to you.

“Wanna run away again?” you tease him.

“Always,” he chuckles.

You help cleaning up and agree with Harry to meet outside in an hour to take a walk to the meadow. Going home you take a shower and wash the dishes your mum left in the sink when she left for her morning shift. You put on a pair of boyfriend jeans, a warm sweater and your jacket with your trusty boots and you walk out the house right when Harry steps out as well. He grins in your way as the two of you meet in the middle of the street. He holds his arm out for you.

“M’ lady?” he smirks as you link your arm with his and the two of you head out for your little walk. It’s a gloomy day, might rain later as well, but it’s dry so far, so you’re just hoping to get home before it starts raining. Your runaway attempt wasn’t the only time the two of you came out here, it was kind of your place when you felt like having a break from everyone else. You biked out here, brought your favorite snacks and just ran around, enjoying the stillness.

However it also holds a bitter memory as well.

A little further down among the trees happened Harry’s first kiss and you witnessed it, feeling your heart break to a million pieces when you saw him lock lips with someone who wasn’t you.

Debby Hamilton was a friend of yours in sixth grade, you’d say, your only friend beside Harry and the three of you often hung out together around that time. Debby was a delight, you always desired to be more like her, boys liked her and she knew it damn well, but it didn’t make her cocky and egoistic. You always thought Harry had a crush on her, why would have he? They kind of looked cute together.

It was a Friday afternoon and Harry asked if you wanted to come out and listen to his new cassette he got for his old Walkman he refused to get rid of as technology was evolving. You figured he’d want Debby there as well so you invited her along, but didn’t tell Harry. He never made a move on Debby and you thought he was just looking for the right time.

That afternoon, you were supposed to meet them out there at five, but you didn’t leave until half past five and it takes about twenty minutes to get out there. Though you gave them the alone time technically, it still startled you when you found them under one of the oak trees, Debby leaning her back against the tree as Harry stood in front of her. She was smiling up at him sweetly, saying something to him and you were just about to call out for them and apologize for being late when Harry ducked his head and kissed Debby right in front of your eyes.

That was your first and probably worst heartbreak and you were only twelve. You felt betrayed, hopeless and naïve to think Harry would ever have a thing for you when there were girls like Debby. You left without letting them know you were there. When Harry asked you later why you didn’t come you told him you felt sick to your stomach, which wasn’t a total lie, you had quite the nausea after seeing Harry with Debby, but he didn’t have to know all the details.

He later told you about kissing Debby and you pretended like you didn’t know about it. However they never dated and not long after their kiss Debby drifted away from the two of you. Not that you minded, you had a bitter feeling every time you had to look at her after that, jealousy raging in your chest knowing that she got Harry’s first kiss.

He didn’t bring it up after and you weren’t keen on talking about it, but you still know which tree they were standing under and now as you near the area you see that it still stands tall near the tiny stream.

Peeking up at Harry you see that his eyes are focused on the same tree, but then he catches you looking.

“Memories?” you innocently ask, feeling your chest tightening. You don’t even know why you asked. It’s been over a decade since that kiss, you are both adults, but you still can’t help the sadness that washes over you at just the thought, why would you want to get him talk about it now?

“’S just… that’s the tree I kissed Debby when I was twelve,” he mumbles with a shrug. Biting into your bottom lip you look at the old oak tree nodding your head and before you could stop yourself, you speak up.

“I know.”

“What? How would you? I never told you,” Harry asks stopping, a puzzled look pulling on his face.

“Well I… It doesn’t matter,” you sigh, regretting ever opening your mouth.

“It does. Tell me!” he pleads standing in front of you.

“I know it, because… I was here.”

“You what?”

“I came, I was just very late. And when I arrived you two were standing there and I saw you kiss. I thought I shouldn’t interrupt whatever was happening so I went home and let you two be,” you explain, changing it up a little bit.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why is it important that I saw it? It doesn’t change anything, right?” you ask with a smile that you intended to look innocent, but deep down it’s filled with pain.

Harry opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but then remains silent and you are done talking about it, so you just quietly keep walking, Harry catching up with you a few moments later.

It’s awfully quiet after your revelation, it seems like Harry is deep in his thoughts and though you’re dying to know what’s occupying his bright thoughts, you’re kind of afraid you’d hear something you didn’t want to.

The two of you soon head back home and slowly, but you forget about the whole Debby thing. Harry starts talking again, but he looks a little keyed up still when you reach your street.

“Wanna come over later?” you ask standing on the pavement in front of your house, it’s just an innocent question. Harry nods his head.

“Sure. Is your mum working?” he asks glancing at the house, though he knows she is, the car is not on the driveway.

“Yeah. She’ll be home around six.”

He nods again and you want to ask if he is alright, but you decide not to. You share a quick hug before he heads over to his home and you do the same. The house waits for you in silence and when the door clicks behind you, it weighs down on you heavier than you were expecting. You hang your jacket, kick your boots off and throw yourself to the couch, covering your eyes with your arm as you huff out in frustration. You feel silly for getting upset about such a small thing even after so much time, but you just can’t help it.

You barely realize the sound of the front door opening, taking your arm off your eyes you see Harry walk in, eyebrows furrowed, a worried look on his handsome face.

“Harry—“ “I was waiting for you that day,” he simply says as you sit up with wide eyes, confused about what he is really talking about.

“What?”

“That day, we agreed to meet out there to listen to my new Stevie Wonder cassette, but you didn’t show up, Debby did even though I didn’t invite her out there.”

“Well, I did, thought you wanted her there too,” you explain, startled by the situation.

“I would have invited her if I wanted her to be there, but I wanted to be with you. Only you.”

“I-I’m sorry?” you breathe out, not seeing where he is going with it.

“Y/N, you don’t understand,” he huffs and he is right. You don’t. “I wanted to meet you, but you never came, or at least I thought. Then Debby showed up, I was frustrated that you weren’t there and she was being all nice, telling me how cute I looked when I was worried and it all just happened so fast and… I didn’t even want to kiss her.” He looks properly upset telling you the story and he takes a deep breath before his eyes meet yours with a hard stare. “I wanted to be with you,” he repeats.

“Harry, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

He shakes his hair, not even letting you finish, because he knows what you wanted to say and that you still don’t understand the meaning behind his words.

“Y/N, I wanted to kiss you,” he then finally says and you suck on your breath as he continues. “Well, not right then and there, but I’ve been meaning to kiss you, I just didn’t know when. I thought that if we have a moment that afternoon I’d do it, but you never came and I was mad and disappointed. I hated myself for kissing Debby, because I didn’t really want to, it just… happened. I wanted to tell you, and I intended to do it when I told you we kissed, but you acted so happy, I figured you didn’t feel the same way about me as I did for you. So I didn’t tell you the rest, but…” He sighs in defeat, looking for words, but he ran out.

“Why are you telling this to me now?” you ask a little out of breath, your head feeling heavy at the new information you just heard.

“Why didn’t you tell me you saw us and why did you go home without a word?” he asks ignoring your question.

“I… don’t—“

“Don’t try to lie.”

Gulping hard you lick your dried lips as you stare back at him.

“Because I was… jealous.” Your voice comes out only as a whisper. Harry’s lips part as he takes two steps closer to you.

“You had feelings for me?” he asks and you just nod your head, not trusting yourself with your voice. “Do you still have feelings for me?”

“I do,” you whisper your answer and Harry lets out a sharp breath as he leaps across the room in your way. You jump to your feet, thinking that he’ll lash out on your for keeping it a secret and you open your mouth to explain yourself, but you never get to speak up because as Harry reaches you, one hand snaps to the back of your neck, the other one to your waist, yanking you against him as his lips crash to yours.

You gasp in surprise, but it doesn’t take long to kiss him back, your numb mind blindly reacting to his sudden action. Your hands snake up to the back of his neck as you pull him closer, returning his hungry kisses. His soft lips feel so smooth and warm against yours and when his tongue runs along your bottom lip you whimper letting your tongues meet in the middle.

He is intoxicating and it doesn’t help that your adrenaline level is up in the sky, you’ve fantasized about it way too many times, and now that it’s happening your body is burning in flames. He kisses you all over and over again, his body pressing against yours hard and when he even leans in making you lean back, you lose balance and the two of you fall to the couch, both of you gasping as you are forced to part your lips.

“Fuck,” you chuckle as Harry is basically lying on you, holding himself up on his arms, but you feel him everywhere.

“’M sorry, I got a little carried away, but I’ve been dying to do this since forever,” he admits chuckling as he lifts his head and looks down at you with those bright green eyes of his.

“Really?” you breathe out, only slowly processing what’s really just happened.

“Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since I first saw you hiding behind your mum.”

“Idiot, you were just a kid, you weren’t in love,” you chuckle, running up your hands to the back of his neck, your fingers playing with the soft curls. He smirks and nuzzles his nose against yours.

“Oh, I was, I just didn’t know it yet.” Leaning down he pecks your lips softly. “I’ve been meaning to tell you so many times, but I didn’t want it to ruin our friendship. Though I was growing impatient these last few years.”

“Yeah?” you chuckle.

“You can’t imagine,” he huffs shaking his head. I almost kissed you the other day in the kitchen, but Gemma completely ruined the moment.”

“I’m sorry I ran away, I was just—“ “No need to apologize. I guess it all played out well after all, right?” he smirks and you can’t help but chuckle.

“I guess,” you breathe out and the smile slowly fades from your lips. “And now what?” you ask quietly, staring up at him.

“Now… We’ll try to make things work. Test the waters. I’m very serious about this, Y/N,” he tells you. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life so I’m not gonna let go of you now.”

“You have no idea how happy this is making me,” you choke out feeling the tears forming in your eyes.

“Oh Love, please don’t cry,” he begs and leaning down he kisses your tears away. “I’m right here, with you. Sorry it took me so long you get here, but I’m here now.”

“I know,” you huff blinking away the tears as you pull him down and press your lips to his. “I love you, Harry,” you whisper against his perfect lips. You feel him exhale sharply as he keeps kissing you before he lifts his head so your eyes meet again.

“I’ve always loved you.”

 Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought about it!

[littlemisspascal]

Ezra’s Journal Entries #1-3

Fandom: Prospect / Pedro Pascal

Pairing: Ezra x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,269

Summary: You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

Warnings: angsty fluff, Ezra’s dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, 1st person POV (Ezra), dialogue in italics because that’s just how I chose to do it, no beta so all mistakes are mine

Author Note: I know I said Death and Angel would come out next, but I got such a inspiration high and the words came out so quickly I just told myself screw it and decided to share what I have. If anyone thinks this is a series worth pursuing, let me know. If you don’t, well, just be gentle please 💖

Cross-posted on AO3

Entries #4-6

Look for additional notes at the bottom.

My name is Ezra. 

I have my mama to thank for that. Time has erased her face from my memory, but her voice is ingrained into the tissue of my brain the same way these words are inked on this parchment. She was a bonafide believer that the meaning of a child’s name influenced the course of their destiny. When I was no taller than the height of her waist I learned my own name’s denotation: help.

It’s just a tick too ironic, isn’t it? To be destined to help others when I can’t help my own self. I gave the Green far too little credit. It didn’t just pilfer my arm to satisfy its ravenousness, it greedily stole my sense of purpose too. 

Every night I thank the deities you didn’t accompany me there. If the Green had taken you...

I know how worried you are about me, little love of mine. When I look at you, I find you already looking back, a sweet smile gracing your lips even as concern burns in your eyes as an eternal flame. From day one you’ve always been looking at me, seeing every disgraced flaw and scar—even the invisible ones carved into the darkest edges of my soul. Kevva knows I’ve never been capable of concealing anything from you, but fuck if I don’t wish I could sometimes.

You’re asleep now as I write this, tucked against my side in the vacant space my arm once occupied, drooling on my shirt. I love you so much it hurts. A black hole in my chest perpetually aching to be filled by your presence. And as we venture once more into the starry sea, our ship gliding past the imaginary wings of Noctua, I find myself recalling a theory you once told me many cycles ago about humans being made in the womb with stardust infused in their bones, linking them to the universe. You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe. 

And it’s undoubtedly selfish, but all I could think of in that tender moment beyond kissing you was how I didn’t want an eternity spent together with our cosmic bodies intertwined. 

I want longer.

Soon after we awoke and each consumed a slice of bush bread bought during our recent docking at Kamrea, you fiddled with the channels on the ship’s radio, hoping to hear news from your homeworld but cursing when you only heard static. Then, without an ounce of forewarning, music burst out with an almighty scream through the speakers at full volume, flooding the whole compartment with a woman’s warbling. It was the same crusted Vayok song that merc Inumon blared in my ears during my last night on the Green, every note an individual needle piercing my skull, impossible to ignore.

Reality deserted me, leaving me to sink to the depths of the abyss within my mind where all I could see was Cee’s pale, disturbed expression as she looked to me for guidance. I remembered how my tongue felt clumsy in my mouth as I tried my damnedest to negotiate our transport, thinking if I could just piece together the right sequence of words, if I could just get their lingering eyes off of her, then maybe, maybe we’d have a chance at salvation. 

The memories coalesced, overlapping and blurring and mixing out of order. Each one was drenched in spilt blood.

Then your pinky wrapped around mine. The touch was soft yet firm, the action childlike in its innocence. It was such a jarring contradiction to my mind’s violent narrative, my consciousness was hurtled back into the living quarters of our ship as a result. You didn’t say anything when you saw I returned to you. Instead, you swallowed down the questions lodged in your throat and led me by our entwined fingers back to our bed.

There’s a plant back home called a dandelion, you told me with my head resting in your lap, a far better comfort than any pillow could provide me. It’s the only plant in the galaxy you can see the sun, the moon and the stars when you look at it. That’s not why it’s my favorite though.

I asked how it had won your heart’s favor if not due to its resemblance to the celestial bodies, then immediately found myself mesmerized by the smile that lit up your face as you peered down at me. My chest cavity tightened as I was filled with the profound longing to be able to suspend time, if only so I could stretch this moment to match the length of our separation, if only so I could erase the old and replace it with the beautiful new.

Dandelions grant wishes, babe. Anything you wish for with your whole heart, it will be yours to have.

I told you I wouldn’t wish for anything—nothing else in the galaxy could compare to the prettiest, wisest soul I’d ever encountered in all my years traversing it. You saw right through that lie with the same confident ease you see through all my masks and diversions, but—for the second time in the span of an hour—you held your tongue.

This journal’s as good a place as any to admit the honest truth. So here it is: I wish with the entirety of my bloody, beating heart I could be the man you deserve, little love of mine. 

When you read, whether it be a book or the flight manual, you have the precious habit of mouthing the words. I don’t think you have the faintest notion you’re even doing it, which makes it all the more endearing to watch.

My brother had a similar habit, always nose deep in the yellowing pages of classic literature, except he had a proclivity to spoil the plot when he talked in his sleep. I remember there was one particular novel he returned to often, sometimes reading from beginning to end, other times seeking out specific segments he’d underlined in bold, black pen. It was a rather dreary tale about war and rivalry and the process of determining one’s own identity. I became so exasperated with my brother’s obsession I considered shredding it on more than one occasion, only to immediately hate myself for entertaining the thought.

It was only after his death—twelve whole cycles, in fact—that I summoned up the will to open the front cover. Seeing his name scribbled in the corner, cursive and neat and so utterly him, nearly had me tearing the book in half, overcome with a vicious rage I had never known prior nor have I encountered since. But by the almighty grace of Kevva I reigned it in, chaining it to the agony and fear imprisoned within the confines of my rib cage, and turned the page.

There was one segment underlined not once, but three times, nearly bleeding ink onto the page behind it. When I close my eyes, the words are tattooed on the backs of my eyelids, as haunting as they are comforting.

So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.

The author lived and died centuries before my brother’s inception, that is an inarguable fact. 

But I know those words were written for him all the same. 

Notes: 

There is an actual theory humans are made of stardust ✨

The Sater within Prospect mention the Currents as being responsible for bringing Ezra and Cee to them, so I imagine them as similar to the Fates/Moirai in Greek mythology.

Noctua is a real life, extinct constellation that is Latin for owl. I thought within this Prospect universe it could exist as a type of landmark or coordinate. Plus I love owls 🦉

Crusted is a term from Prospect Ezra uses. Equivalent of damn. I think there’s something funny about how they use creamy as a positive adjective and crusted as negative.

Vayok is the alien language Inumon speaks within the movie, so I decided to write the song she blares as being sung in the same language

Bush bread is referenced in a deleted scene by Ezra, but a google search revealed to me it’s also a real life type of bread too

In the same deleted scene Ezra references that he has a brother. I haven’t decided his name yet/if he will have one

The book and quote Ezra refers to in #3 is John Knowles’ A Separate Peace. One of the few required reading books I liked back in high school.

The quote about dandelions being the sun, moon and stars is based on the legend of how dandelions came into existence. I always thought it was beautiful.

Series Taglist: @insomniamamma

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan, @melobee, @randomness501, @absurdthirst, @captain-jebi, @artsymaddie, @happiestsparkleofall, @disgruntledspacedad, @gallowsjoker, @aerynwrites, @vintagesaph, @sylphene, @chibi-yuki, @freeshavocadoooo, @stilllivindue2spite, @pointy-sharp, @leilei-draws, @over300books, @theocatkov, @oh-no-a-whovian, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @lin-djarin, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @coaaster, @waywardmando, @thisshipwillsail316, @grogusmum, @asta-lily, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @tacticalsparkles​

[redrobin-detective]

Starlit Vigil

Dannymay Day 4: Stars _____________________________

Everything has a story to it, a tale interwoven into it’s very being from it’s birth to it’s death. Sometimes the mystery of the story is as much a story in and of itself. 

Scientists and researchers can’t say when the constellation first appeared in the night sky. It could be seen above Antarctica, near where the edge of the continent meets the Indian Ocean. It confounded a great many people as stars simply didn’t appear out of nowhere. But these did, slowly over the course of several decades sometimes years apart but two appeared within hours of each other. Each new star, eight in total, had a glistening, almost unnatural twinkle to them. The constellation was named Mnemosyne after the Grecian goddess of memory and the stars eight of her nine daughters, better known as the Muses. 

You’ve always had your eyes turned towards the stars and Mnemosyne in particular had always captured your attention. You can’t really explain what it is about those stars that speak to you. Maybe it’s sheer impossibility of their existence. Perhaps it’s the particular beauty of these stars, sometimes appearing to shift in shape and change colors. Or it could be the story behind the stars, the mystery that couldn’t be solved and so imagination filled in the holes left behind.

They say there was a great king, hundreds of years ago. A king who was powerful and kind and helped create the world as we know it. The land of the dead exists and certain people can interact with those beyond it. Technology and understanding have advanced dramatically and, while no life would ever be perfect, there was a general sense of peace that could felt in this world and the next. This king loved our world so much it’s said he plucked the greatest jewels he could find and placed them in the stars where he could watch over and cherish them forever. It’s a sentiment you can understand. 

You study astronomy in school and when you’re given a chance to travel to the Antarctic Circle to study Mnemosyne, you can’t say yes fast enough. The bitter cold and isolation is a small price to pay to see your favorite constellation up close. Maybe when you see it with your own eyes, you can unravel some of the questions people have been asking over the years. Why the goddess of Memory? Why are the stars named after the Muses but missing the muse of astronomy, Urania? What is the true story behind the supernaturally bright stars that appeared out of nowhere?

It’s hard to sleep during the day, partially because it goes against your normal circadian rhythm but you’re also too excited for night to come. For the stars to come out. You bundle up in the warmest clothes, pack your cameras and notebooks and throw the highest quality telescope you can carry over your shoulder. Arriving at the best site for star gazing, you are so delighted by the clear skies and sparkling stars that it takes you an extra moment to realize that you’re not alone.

At first, you think it’s one of the many researchers conducting studies at the pole but it’s soon apparent that this is someone new. Their hair is stark white, almost appearing one with the blustering wind as it’s blown around. You can’t see what they’re wearing because a thick white cape covers them entirely; it has the consistency of freshly fallen snow. Atop their head floats a crown made of pure, crystalline ice. Your eyes widen behind your protective goggles. The existence of ghosts was common knowledge by now but it’s another thing to see one up close. You turn to leave, before the spirit notices you.

“Don’t leave,” he says quietly but despite the roaring of the wind, you can hear him perfectly clear. “You came to watch the stars too, I don’t mind. Mnemosyne is my favorite.”

“Mine too,” you say back without even thinking. “I would love to know their stories.” The ghost turns to smile at you and his eyes are a bright, glowing green without any pupils or sclera. 

“Come, I’ll tell you about them.” You know you shouldn’t. While most spirits aren’t malicious, this one exudes a power you can’t even imagine. But you find yourself stepping closer anyway. You want to hear the stories of the stars and his smile is the warmest thing you’ll find for miles. Somehow you know this ghost won’t harm you. He points up at Mnemosyne and your twin gazes stare up in wonder. 

“They say souls and stars are made of the same ingredients. When I was a boy, I loved this thought. There was something comforting in knowing that, no matter where I went, that I could carry the stars within me,” the ghost explains, looking at you joyfully. 

“But unlike stars, souls are mortal, impermanent,” he says, his smile turning sad. “So I thought, why not put a soul into a star? Then it could last for eons.” He turns back to the stars with a melancholic expression. “Danielle was the first, my little sister. She was always fragile and after only a decade of life, one day she just broke. Her core was too damaged to become a full ghost so I offered her another way to live on. I took the brightness of her smile and made it into a star, into Euterpe. She was the muse of lyrics and poetry, they say she was the ‘bringer of delight’. It suited Danielle.”

“My enemy died next,” the ghost continues. “He hurt me and, moreover, hurt the ones I loved. But he was the only one who truly understood me. His existence comforted me no matter how much bad blood existed between us. His life was full of misfortune, most of it self-inflicted but his fear of death pulled on my heart. My last move in our battle was to make him a star as well, Melpomene, the muse of tragedy. I put him far away from Danielle, I think he’d hurt her.”

“My parents passed a few decades later,” the ghost whispers. “Mom went first, in her sleep. Dad always followed her example so it wasn’t a surprise when Dad followed her in death before the day was done. They were scientists, I think but they loved me very much. Things were tense, I remember being afraid for some reason but their deaths pained me. They were too fulfilled to become ghosts. I grabbed bits of their essence before it dissipated and made the stars Polyhymnia and Terpsichore, the muses of hymns and dance respectively. They were a perfect couple, partners in everything. A song and a dance, always in time with each other.”

The wind rustles the ghost’s cape, he clutches it as if he is cold. You cannot tear your eyes from the the soft grief on his face. 

“Valerie went next, some sort of illness; I can’t remember the details,” the ghost frowned. “She had no desire to become a ghost, no matter how much I asked her to stay. I am King of All Ghosts and yet I got on my knees and begged for some part of her to keep with me. In the end, I stole a bit of her fading spirit and crafted Calliope, the assertive muse, the author of epic poetry. She shines so brightly up there like she had in life.”

“Jasmine died peacefully in her sleep like our mother. She was always protecting me, even in death. Her devotion to knowledge and my wellbeing kept her by my side for many years but it wasn’t enough to last forever. When her spirit was nothing more than wisps, I took her core and placed Clio with the rest of our family. The muse of history, the proclaimer of great deeds fit my older sister well.”

“Tucker and Sam stayed with me the longest. Tucker went first, a quick death from an aged body followed by years as the playful spirit I always knew him as. Sam, my life and my love, passed the same and was my queen in death as she’d been in life. But love can delay death but not deny it and their spirits needed to move on. I kissed them both, my soulmates and made them into stars. Thalia, the muse of comedy and idyllic poems for the light Tucker brought to me. Erato for Sam, muse of love and its poetry for all that she inspired and gave me.”

You see glowing tears running down his face, he holds his hands out to the night sky. His fingers are curved as if wanting to reach and tenderly brush the faces of people long gone. Only they’re not gone completely. You look at the stars with a newfound appreciation. They are no longer pinpricks of long dead light but people who lived and died and yet still lived on in such beauty. If you look closely, you can almost see them. Brushes of red hair, dark rugged skin, the glint of glasses, a flash of amethyst eyes. 

“There’s no Urania,” you say quietly, the wind tossing them. 

“Not yet,” he says longingly, “but soon. The Zone and the Earth are at peace, they won’t need my protection for much longer. When that happens, my spirit will leave this world and join my loved ones in the stars as Urania.” This ghost has been dead for longer than you’ve been alive, longer than many of your most recent ancestors. But his love can still be felt, still burns high above in the sky for everyone to see. What better eternity is there?

“May I tell their story?” You ask and he only nods in response, not taking his eyes off Mnemosyne. You get the feeling he has forgotten about you, caught up in the light of his loved ones shining down on him, waiting. All at once, you realize how late it is, how cold. You leave to return to the research shelter, to write the history of the miracle constellation. 

The stars made out of souls, crafted by love.

Twelve years later, you are not surprised when you look up and see a ninth star in the constellation of Mnemosyne. It glows brightly, twinkling with the other muses as if in conversation. You can only smile through your tears, so profoundly happy that Urania’s lonely vigil is finally over and they have assumed their rightful place among the stars. 

[tamorapierce]

Tammy's Spring 2020 Reading Recommendations For the Bored

Sooner or later the bookhounds among us are going to start joining my relentless song, from age five on up, of “I don’t have anything to read!!!!”

 I am here to help.  In this space, as I get to it (knowing, as my readers do, that I have no sense of deadline), I will be posting a constant set of collections of book titles by authors my team and I have read and will recommend in a wild variety of genres and for a wild variety of ages.  (And I’ll give a short hint as to the subject of the first book/series—if I did them all I’d never finish this.)  This last is for the many of you who are reading teen and adult books in grade and middle school, and those adult readers who are reading teen and kidlit. These people are for those who love books and don’t care who is supposed to be reading them.  

 Also, you may have to look far and wee, since we will be drawing upon not only recently published books but older ones that we have either read recently or that we read long ago and have re-read or have never forgotten.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you when the writing is archaic.  If you’re a true nutsy reader like the rest of us, you won’t care.

 -Tammy Pierce

                                                        *     *     *

Assume the book came out within the last 2 years unless I put LO next to the title, which means you have to check libraries and bookstores online and paper for copies.

 *     *     *

 Diana Wynne Jones  LO

A generation or two of fantasy writers, particularly those who love humor, bow to this woman as our goddess.  Not only was she out of her mind in a very British and manic way, but with her TOUGH GUIDE TO FANTASYLAND she taught a number of us to ditch some ill-considered tropes of our genre.  If you write historic fantasy in particular, move heaven and earth to track this book down.  There’s a bonus: some of the entries will make you laugh till you cry.

           She is best known for her books for middle grade and teens, but they are enjoyable for all readers.  I cannot list them all here because my fingers will break (curse you, arthritis!), but these titles will give you a jumping-off point.  And remember, authors change with each book, so you won’t encounter the same author with each title as the author you read in the previous one!

           The Chrestomanci books, all in the same universe, in order of story,

                       not publication

Charmed Life  (1977) An innocent lad follows his plotting egotistical sister to live with England’s chief wizard

The Lives of Christopher Chant (1988)

Conrad’s Fate (2005)

Witch Week (1982)

The Magicians of Caprona (1980)

Short stories

 The Dalemark Quartet begins with

The Spellcoats (1979)

3 sequels

 The Derkholm books are

Dark Lord of  (1998)

Year of the Griffin (2000)

  The Tough Guide to Fantasyland is standalone, but is a kind of offshoot of the Derkholm books.  You don’t have to have read the Derkholm books to get Tough Guide!

 There are other books and stories by Jones—I’ll let you find them on your own.

  Philip Pullman

To this day I am unable to call him anything but Mr. Pullman—that’s how much in awe of the man I am.  We’ve had dinner together, talked on the phone, talked at an event or two, done a conversation on audio with Christopher Paolini—it’s still Mr. Pullman to me.  (I was an assistant in a literary agency when I discovered his work, and I never recovered.) He is, in a word, brilliant, and his interests range through all kinds of areas, particularly history and religion.  I could have talked with him forever that night we had dinner, but the poor man had jet lag and I let him go to collapse.  It was one of the best exchanges of ideals, values, and books I’ve ever had.  

Read his work carefully, because what he discusses is never just the story on top.  No matter what he writes, he is making strong points about social justice, human nature, religion, and history without preaching.  He is one of the few male writers out there who can write female characters as people, not Something Different.  And you never know, with his work, where he will go next.

 The Ruby in the Smoke,

book 1,  the Sally Lockheart mysteries

Victorian mysteries with a female hero and male assistants,

           The Book of Dust and sequel,

first 2 books of The Secret Commonwealth

           His Dark Materials trilogy

                       The Golden Compass

                       2 other titles                

           THE COLLECTORS

           LYRA’S OXFORD

           THE WHITE MERCEDES

           FAIRY TALES FROM THE BROTHERS GRIMM

           I WAS A RAT!

           TWO CRAFTY CRIMINALS

           COUNT KARLSTEIN

           (I will stop here and let you find the rest. Most are available as Nook books.)

  Sharon Shinn

I discovered Sharon Shinn with JOVAH’S ANGEL, but a shortage of funds left me unable to pursue my interest (I am an economic disaster with libraries, so I buy rather than borrow) until, with a job and money to spend, I spotted THE SAFE-KEEPER’S SECRET.  It is the story of a medieval-ish world and a small village where a baby was left with a childless couple.  She is raised as their daughter and discovers, as she grows, that her mother is an important, a Safekeeper, the person to whom a secret can be told, relieving the person who told it of the weight of guilt from it, to be carried by the Safekeeper until the owner either decides to tell or dies.  (And if they die without giving permission, the Safekeeper never reveal the secret.)  The baby who is adopted by this town’s safekeeper becomes the safekeeper in her turn.

           The next book is THE TRUTHTELLER’S TALE, about a girl who acquires the gift (??) of telling the truth, whether the person she tells it to wants to hear it or not. The third book is The Dream-maker’s Magic.  The three main characters now learn why they have been brought together over the course of the two earlier books, in what I thought was a satisfying, if unusual, conclusion.

           And there’s more!  I just did the two I love best!

             THE SAFEKEEPER’S SECRET (book 1, two sequels)

           ARCHANGEL (4 books)

           TWELVE HOUSES (5 books)

           ELEMENTAL BLESSINGS (4 books)        

SHIFTING CIRCLE (2 books)

           UNCOMMON ECHOES

           GENERAL WINSTON’S DAUGHTER

           GATEWAY

 Daniel Jose Older

 I was a Daniel Jose Older fan before I was sent DACTYL HILL SQUAD for a blurb (preodactyls in flight!  Of all sizes!  Confederate spies!  Thuggish bigot northerners!  The backlash of Gettysburg and the forced recruitment of blacks for the war effort! And strong, smart, fierce kids of various ages, sizes, colors, national heritage, and skills doing their best to help the war against the slaves, keep escaped slaves safe, duck the cruel managers of the homes and jails where they are being kept, find a half-decent meal, free other kids in trouble, learn who’s killing their friends, and help the dactyls!  That’s part of it, anyway!

Yeah, I loved it.  And there’s at least one new book, and once I’ve mowed though that, there are his older teen books, and his grownup mysteries, with their half-dead taxi driver who doubles as a part-time troubleshooter for the undead powers in his Bone Street Rhumba series.  {happy sigh}

  Edgar Allen Poe

Yes, some of these are reminders of why we ended up to be the readers we are and to nudge us to corrupt—I mean, “introduce”—­new readers to the glories that are our legacies.

­

THE COMPLETE TALES AND POEMS OF EDGAR ALLEN POE

           Here are the greats:

poems like “The Raven,” and “Annabelle Lee”

stories like “The Fall of the House of Usher,” “The Telltale Heart,” and  ::shudder:: “The Pit and the Pendulum” (yes, a deep pit and a swinging pendulum topped with a razor-edged blade will be featured in this story).  

My dad would read these to us on dark and stormy nights when we lived near the Pacific ocean, when the fog came rolling in, softening every sound, when there were no cars driving by and no other sounds in our house but his deep voice and the crackle of the fire in the fireplace.  We would listen, soundless, as he wove the stories and poems around us and the foghorn sounded offshore.

           That’s the power of Poe.

  N. K. Jemisin

I think I began with Jemisin’s THE HUNDRED THOUSAND KINGDOMS, soon followed by its sequel THE BROKEN KINGDOMS.  The series ended with a third book, THE KINGDOM OF THE GODS.  She presented a rich and varied world from the aspects of people of different classes, showing the growth of societies and their formation.  I have a secret passion for society-building and social interaction, and whether or not a book is difficult to read (as Jemisin’s books are in spots because she refuses to insult a reader by talking down to them) is immaterial.  I want the world and I want the characters, and with her far-reaching mind and her respect for her characters she delivers each and every time.  I have read almost everything she’s written since that first trilogy: if I’ve missed something, it’s because I was in the middle of a deadline and on the road and somehow didn’t see it.  I’ll catch up!  This is just a sample:

           For readers of all sexes and adult reading skills

 The City They Became (pub’d April 2020)

 The Inheritance Trilogy:

           The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, 2010

           2 book sequels

Novella: The Awakened Kingdom, 2014

                       Triptych: Shades in Shadow, 2015 (3 short stories) 

             The Dreamblood Duology:

           For readers of all sexes and adult reading skills

           The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, 2010

                       Two sequels

 The Broken Earth series:

         The Fifth Season (August 2015)

                       Two book sequels

And there are plenty of short stories out there.  I may even have missed a book or twelve!

For those who prefer to hear my ramble in person, a video!

[fangirlyah]

✦ to be so lonely - Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

one shot inspired by the harry styles’s song ‘to be so lonely’ 

summary: draco makes bad decisions that alienate what he loves the most

warnings: it’s pure angst so yeah

word count: 2,640

Don't blame me for fallin'

I was just a little boy

it was a freezing winter night when draco realized that he was in love with y/n. it was extremely cold when he saw her go through the door of the manor with her reddish nose and an elegant coat covering her green dress. her parents in front of her receiving his parents with a handshake. they already knew what was going next, but neither draco nor y/n were involved yet, they only accompanied their parents in the meetings; they were almost always left outside the room, together in the kitchen having a cup of hot tea and sharing chats that kept draco awake that night and maybe the next.

Don't blame the drunk caller

Wasn't ready for it all

it was an autumn tinged with warm tones, when y/n realized that she was in love with draco. she saw him pick up a book from the library while she accommodated the ones she had recently used and felt her heart jump. they knew little of what lay ahead, only accompanying their parents as it would be dangerous to be left alone at home and unable to use magical protection because of their age. so y/n visited malfoy manor or draco visited the y/l mansion very often. when it was the blond’s turn to leave his home, they always went up to the roof to look at the stars that left her stunned.

You can't blame me, darling

Not even a little bit

I was away

And I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch

Who can't admit when he's sorry

everyone knew of their friendship but no one dared to ask how it had begun. they knew the answer would be something like: ‘our parents are death eaters, what did you expect? ', so they just kept their doubt behind their backs and watched their movements together. which were not many, but enough to bring to light their friendship. 

Don't call me "baby" again

You got your reasons

was the week after that icy night, when draco put his head on y/n’s lap as they read in the private library of her mansion and said, 

"I think I’m in love with you" amidst the entrancing silence, in which only the passing of the leaves and their breaths were the only noises. after three years of friendship, draco was confessing his feelings that, a week ago, had really been recognized by the youngest malfoy. at that very moment y/n leaned her lips gently on those of draco who was looking at her from her lap. silently sealing a promise that would not last long, but that she believed it would.

I know you mean it

But don't call me "baby" again

their first kiss was seven weeks before september first, seven weeks spent between kisses and hugs in the library, the kitchen and some other room. 

seven weeks filled with cups of tea and stargazing. 

seven weeks in which draco’s hands did not seem to leave those of y/n; not even when they ate around the other minions of who-must-not-be-named, which was when he intertwined their hands under the table.

seven weeks, which both enjoyed each other’s presence deeply and did not pass a day when they did not remember each other how much they enjoyed the other's company.

It's hard for me to go home

Be so lonely

 but it was a week before september first when draco, was personally requested by the dark lord to entrust him with what would be a life-or-death task, which they did not believe to y/n able to perform. 

and they were right, she couldn’t murder someone even though the dark mark had been impregnated in her arm since she was twelve; unlike draco that got his that week before school. he didn’t say anything. not even when his girlfriend approached to kiss him goodbye and meet again on platform 9 ¾ just a few hours before the return to hogwarts. 

draco was terrified, more terrified than he had ever been in his life, but he said nothing.

that night apart was the first in a long time, a night that for the lack of company and what was ahead for them, he did not rest a minute. his head hovering in the fact that the ray of light, also called y/n, was almost involved in such a situation. he did not know that she had been involved for much longer than that vacation and that the mark had been placed on y/n’s arm, by that time, she was still an infant. y/n had lied, she said that she had obtained it just a few months ago.

"but it doesn’t hurt?, I heard that the first few months are fatal" her boyfriend stared at her, moving his eyes between hers and her arm. y/n wanted to say yes, that her first few months were horrible but she didn’t want to frighten him and tell him that a 12-year-old girl used to scream out of pain every night when she went to sleep. she was afraid he’d walk away, judge her. 

"I put on a lot of moisturizer to keep it from burning, so it doesn’t hurt so much" she wasn’t lying, but those lotions had long expired after she had used them. he gently kissed her arm wishing with all his might that, when he opened his eyes, the dark mark would have disappeared from y/n’s arm.

I just hope you see me

In a little better light

it was only a few hours before their re-admission to hogwarts when he refused the kiss that y/n went to give him when she saw him standing at the train station, alone with his suitcase.

 she thought he was waiting for her but he wasn’t. 

their reunion had been idealized in y/n’s head that night, in which draco had not been able to sleep, but she had. she had managed to fall in a deep sleep, being draco the last thing her brain thought consciously. she imagined that their reunion would be like those muggle romantic books she read hidden in the library of her house. something romantic and happy that people around would see as a movie scene.

but it was not so, he did not look her in the eyes. not even when they were already inside the train and y/n took a seat beside him in some padded seats. 

not even when he mentioned that he would stay a few more minutes on the train, giving permission to her, blaise and pansy to get off without him.

not even when y/n looked at him indignantly when she saw potter come into the great hall with a bloody nose, knowing exactly what he had done.

not even when she said good night with a kiss on his cheek before she left for her bedroom.

he looked at her for the first time when, surrounded by his minions. draco was having lunch without paying attention to the people around him. y/n had returned from the care of magical creatures class, when she saw him almost without expression, putting a piece of bread in his mouth. 

"hi, baby" y/n spoke softly as she sat in front of the mysterious blond. the word 'baby' caught the attention of his friends who shut up with the intention of meddling in the conversation.

"don’t call me that" her boyfriend spoke looking into her eyes. his eyes full of cold, transmitting seriousness and stress; very different from those she had enjoyed throughout the older days.

"draco, what's going on?" crabbe, goyle, zabini and millicent watched the situation on their sides. y/n thanked merlin internally, that pansy was not in the situation because otherwise her mockery would be endless.

"why the fuck do you care?" his hands trembled slightly on the table, but these immediately became fists when he saw the look of y/n on them. 

"why the fuck do I care? draco, you’re my boyfriend, of course I care" suddenly the laughter began to flood the, formerly silent, table. including draco who laughed out loud. a laughter that caused y/n’s body to begin to feel more and more weak.

"your boyfriend?!" replied the blonde keeping his arrogant smile "you’re crazy, really. what do they feed you at home? poison?" 

he knew perfectly well how he was hurting her. 

he knew perfectly well how he was crushing her heart into thousands of pieces. 

he knew she had always had a bad time in her own home, and yet it was the first thing he came up with to bother her. 

when he finished his second sentence, even millicent’s laughter bounced into y/n’s ears, she was supposed to be her friend. 

why endure more humiliation? y/n decided to leave the great hall as fast as she could and run to the bathroom where everyone would go to cry. it wasn’t the first time myrtle saw her come in with tears in her eyes, and she already knew how the girl didn't like to be invaded with questions as soon as she arrived, so the ghost held back.

Do you think it's easy

her knees were covering her chin as her eyes kept shedding tears and her mouth noisy sobs. everything had been a farce that she had swallowed as if it were a sip of warm milk. 

he had used her completely so he wouldn’t be alone on those scary holidays.

sitting on the floor of the damp bath her thoughts wandered in the beautiful memories she believed had been real and sentimental to both of them. 

she was not wrong. draco had to leave the great hall within minutes of her departure because his body was about to collapse, he felt that the panic attack he had not yet had that day, was about to blossom. so he ran straight into the prefects' bathroom, without avoiding shedding a few tears as he hurried over there. 

the only person who had never left his side was now heartbroken because of him. he had a reputation to maintain and a girl to keep safe, so pretending to hate her was the best option.

but his regret came faster than he thought. he never would have thought it would hurt so much to see her after that noon, where, indirectly, it was all over.

his body trembled every time he saw her sitting alone on the other end of the table. he had caused her to be left completely alone; she had devoted her entire attention and friendship so many years to him, that she had never developed such a deep friendship with anyone else, so she was now alone. 

Being of the jealous kind?

'Cause I miss the shape of your lips

she remained alone until the day draco saw her enter the great hall accompanied. 

it had been a month since those hateful words had come out of his mouth and he was getting worse, thinner and sadder every day. not only was he sad because he had to kill dumbledore in less than a month and a half, but he missed her. he missed her so much that, especially during the night, that nostalgia became present as physical pain that twisted him in his bed.

the night he saw her walk with neville by her side, smiling like she used to do with him, he definitely didn’t sleep. it was an image that would not be removed from his head; to see her eat with a little of her characteristic light back. he wept inconsolably at the fact that he had stolen and shattered that joy and it was someone else who was giving it back to her.

that night, thoughts consumed him like a lit candle. he was wondering if all that stuff he missed about her, now she was sharing them with someone else. He wondered if longbottom now owned her lips and her soft morning voice, if she kissed his cheek as he came out of the shower as she did with him, or if she had already learned how many spoonfuls of sugar he drank with his tea, as she had done with him.

Your wit

It's just a trick

thanks to luna and neville, y/n had come out of her misery faster than she thought.

but it still hurt; because everything made her remember, even the starry nights hurt her internally to the point of crying for hours. 

that’s why she avoided him as much as possible, she had begun to sit at the ravenclaw or gryffindor’s table since she had no one to sit with at her own house table.

"he’s looking this way," neville whispered, beside her as he ate "it’s scary"

"I don’t want to be here neville, can you eat a little faster please?"

in the months that passed, draco had not even tried to approach her. he was not brave enough. so when the day he was supposed to kill the headmaster came, y/n couldn’t get near the astronomy tower. she could not be near when such an atrocity was to be carried out. for what she waited uneasy at the entrance to the castle, she was betraying her recent friends and the entire institution, but she had a choice.

when bellatrix’s arrogant laughter began to approach, y/n knew that it was the time when they had to escaped from hogwarts without an early return date. 

when draco arrived at the place where she was standing, his only desire was to take her in his arms as he used to and run away with her where no one could find them. he saw her weak and worried and he just wanted to kiss the wrinkles on her forehead and make them disappear. he wanted to tell her that he couldn’t kill dumbledore, because her face had gotten in his brain; the memory of her by his side and how her presence used to make everything disappear.

but before he could get close, all the death eaters started dragging them out of the castle. in spite of potter’s screams that chased them, they continued to run into the forbidden forest, together. 

it would be a lie to say that when they entered the malfoy manor their fears calmed down, because the terror did not leave them alone even for two seconds. their bodies and minds were still in complete shock. their parents sent them to clean themselves as soon as they saw the two teens arrive, so y/n started to go to the guest bathroom that was almost hers, but her ex-boyfriend’s body stopped her in front of the door.

"y/n all I ask is that you listen to me" his voice was pleading and he dragged his syllables, almost as if he had been torn from a good dream and he would not fall asleep again. 

"I’m sorry but...no" she tried to pass, because tears threatened to leave her eyes, but draco’s body did not leave her. 

"nothing was true!"

"of course nothing was true! you lied to my face for months, made me believe you loved me!" the tears that had accumulated in her eyes now ran down her face without stopping, and to her surprise draco’s face was even more submerged in tears. "for years, draco, years. I gave you everything! my friendship and then my deep and devoted love! I gave you everything and you left me alone, without even explaining!" 

she was right, he had lost her because of his idiotic decisions that, in the end, made no sense. his body had weakened so much that y/n was able to move his body out of the front of the door to get into the room as fast as she could.

And this is it, so I'm sorry

[myhaikyuuthings]

“Is this it?” pt 2

warning: angst, fluff pt 1 here

prompt: high school reunions are always messy, especially if you’re y/n

Nishinoya x reader

word count: 2330

a/n: i was listening to music and a sad song came on shuffle about lost love and i couldn’t help myself

‘Karasuno High School 10 year reunion’ screamed at you every time you passed the side table. It was in two days and you still couldn’t decide if you were going to go.

After the break up with Nishinoya you hadn’t been back to Miyagi, let alone the high school. The minute you graduated you went to stay with your grandmother for the summer, starting college directly after. You hadn’t spoken to anyone back home aside from your parents in ten years. There was no point in going. 

With a sigh you knelt beside your bed and pulled a box out from under it. You moved to sit on your bed, lifting the lid for the first time in six years. There were movie ticket stubs, amusement park tickets, zoo brochures, even little notes. You took everything out one by one, laying them out. Underneath it all, the pictures.

Just like that, your feelings rushed back. You were so sure it would be safe to look now. Ten years is more than enough time to move on from someone, but you never did. You tried, you went on dates, blind dates, speed dates, tinder dates. No one ever made you feel the way he did. You reached for your phone, and for the first time in a decade you dialed the number and prayed it was the right one.

He answered on the second ring.

“Hi, may I ask who’s calling?” he asked, a woman’s laughter echoing in the background. 

“It’s Y/N.. Y/N Y/L/N, I wasn’t sure your number would be the same after so long,” you said, holding your breath. 

“Y/N holy shit, it’s been a while. You kept my number all this time?” he laughed, shushing whoever he was with.

“Ah no, it was in my old journal I found, how are you? How’s everyone been?” 

“Did you really call me to catch up when the reunions in two days?” he teased you, it really seemed like he hadn’t changed much.

“I’m not sure if i’m going to come to be honest,” you admitted, feeling just a little guilty for it.

“You have to come! You have got to see who I married,” he whined, but you could hear the pride in his voice.

“Tanaka, you could always just tell me,” you whined back, laughing softly with him.

“No can do, if you wanna know how anyone’s doing you better be at that reunion. I know a lot of people want to see you.”

When you hung up, you spent the next several hours reading through your old diary and the letters Nishinoya had given you. You had saved all of them, down to the sticky notes with random faces doodled on them that he used to stick to your notes during class. You opened a bottle halfway through, letting yourself reminisce. It didn’t take long for your pillow to be covered in tear stains and the pain in your chest to resurface. 

In the end, you decided to go. You even dressed up a bit, wearing a nice black dress with some heels. Your nerves were high as you walked through the gym doors. The last time you had been here, Noya was yelling about needing to perfect his receives. It scared you a bit how vividly you remembered every detail of your time together just from stepping into the room.

The first person you saw was Tanaka, still as bald as ever with his arm around Kiyoko. He caught your eye, smiling widely and gesturing you over. You walked over, saying your hello’s. 

“Bet you didn’t guess I married Kiyoko,” he beamed, giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze, “she actually said yes to me, can you believe that? Been together nine years now.” 

“I’m actually not that surprised, she used to talk about you a lot when we were younger,” you sent Kiyoko a wink as she sputtered around her glass of champagne. 

“I can’t believe you remember that,” she laughed, taking your hand, “I missed you, what have you been up to since you disappeared? I tried to keep up on social media but you didn’t post much about how you were.”

“I got my masters, I actually run my own business in my field now, that’s mainly it,” you give her hand a small squeeze, you had deeply missed your best friend, “i missed you too though, I’m sorry for just ghosting you guys like that.” 

“I’m not gonna lie it was kind of shitty y/n, but I understand to a degree,” Tanaka admitted, scratching the back of his neck, “Now that the gangs back together though, don’t think you can get away so easily this time.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You spent the next hour catching up with everyone, assuring them all you weren’t going anywhere this time. Most of them understood why you left, knowing how difficult it would have been to be around them with how close they were to Nishinoya. But Tsukishima made a good point, why didn’t you ever come back? Everyone agreed, wanting to know why you didn’t try to reconnect or respond to their messages once you moved on. You just gave a shrug, claiming it would have been too awkward. You know Sugawara saw through your lie though, he was always good at reading you. 

“I’m going to go get another drink, I’ll be back,” you excused yourself as Hinata boasted about his team beating Kageyama’s  recently, Kageyama threatening him with violence if he didn’t Hush.They had both changed so much but at the same time they were still the exact same. You really missed them.

Grabbing your drink from the table, you turned quickly and smacked right into someone. Your dress was soaked and from what you could see, so was his shirt. You released a string of apologies, trying to pass him napkins while drying yourself up. When he took the napkins from your hand, that’s when you noticed the name tag. 

‘Hi, I’m Yu Nishinoya’ it read. Your heart stopped. 

You couldn’t believe it. Was it really him? You refused to believe it. You glanced at his face and instantly regretted it. It definitely was him, and he was just as beautiful as you remembered. You winced seeing the shock on his face, not knowing what to expect. This was probably the worst way you could have met him again. He shook his head, seeming to shake himself back into action.

“Here come with me, they still have the towels in the same place,” he smiled, offering you his hand, “they’ll probably do a better job than these napkins.”

You took his hand, following him to the old clubroom and tried to ignore the raised eyebrow from Tanaka. He passed you a towel, turning to take care of his own clothes. You shivered slightly from the cold, regretting going for a second glass. Wordlessly Nishinoya removed his jacket, holding it out to you.

“No I’m okay I can’t take your jacket,” you rushed, suddenly grateful for how low the lights were as your face flushed. 

“Just take it y/n, please? I don’t want you getting sick because I messed up,” he insisted, moving to drape it over your shoulders.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who messed up, I did turn around into you after all,” you laughed, accepting the jacket, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, and don’t worry about bumping into me I should’ve looked where I was walking,” he laughed with you, his hands still holding the edges of the jacket. The two of you just stared at each other for a moment before he dropped his hands. “Sorry.” 

“How have you been?” you changed the subject, “It’s been forever.”

“Uh yeah, it has,” he coughed, turning to face the window, “I’m the coach for Karasuno now, I have been for about three years since Ukai decided to retire. You own your own business now right?”

“Yeah I do actually, how’d you know?” you asked, genuinely shocked that he knew. 

“Just because we haven’t spoken in a decade doesn’t mean I haven’t tried to keep up on how you’re doing,” he smiled, but even in the dim lighting you could tell it wasn’t a happy smile. 

The silence was only a few seconds, but it felt like hours. He kept looking out the window, and you kept looking at him. You put your arms in the jacket, placing your hands in the pockets due to the cold. There was a small box in his pocket. You froze.

‘He’s planning to propose to his girlfriend tonight,’ you thought, trying to fight off the horrible feeling in your stomach. 

“So Nishinoya, other than coaching what have you been up to?” 

“I spent a lot of time fishing after I graduated, helped Ukai out with the shop while he coached, then we kinda switched, that’s really it,” he shrugged, turning his attention back to you. “I’ve dated here and there but it never really lasted.”

‘What?’ you thought, stunned. 

“What about you?  Aside from your business you don’t really post online,” he chuckled, his own cheeks a dark red, “have you found the one?”

You did. Twelve years ago, and you lost him too soon. You couldn’t tell him that though, it wasn’t fair to him so instead you said, “I haven’t actually, no one ever felt right for me.” 

He nodded like he understood. He probably did honestly, and you two went back to the silence. You nodded at nothing, looking around the room. When you glanced back at him you saw his eyes locked on your hands in the jacket pockets. 

“Oh! Right um, if you don’t want me to hold onto the things in your pocket I can give them to you, I didn’t even think-” you rushed out, blushing furiously. 

“Don’t worry about it, the only thing in their is yours anyways,” he cut you off, coughing again. You tilted your head in confusion while he just avoided your eyes. “You can open it if you want.” 

Your curiosity got the best of you and you pulled out the box. The bump of your heartbeat against your ribcage didn’t help your anxiety. You slowly opened it, a shiny ‘N’ pendant staring at you head on. You glanced up at him, trying to figure out why he brought this. Not to mention why he still had it. 

“I lied back then,” he blurted, smacking a hand over his mouth as soon as the words left it.

“What? Yu what are you talking about?” you were trying not to let your hopes get the best of you, heartbreak hurts enough the first time. There’s no reason for you to suffer again when you haven’t even recovered from the first time.

“When you asked me if I meant it,” he sighed, shaking his head at himself. “I don’t know why I lied, but I did and I don’t know why I’m even telling you this now or why I brought that necklace.” 

“You lied,” you repeated, touching the initial softly, “if you lied, what did you really mean? Please Yu, I need to know.” 

“Nothing is worth losing you, I wanted to go back in time and spend more time with you instead of practicing, or even just invite you to study at my practices so we could be near each other,” oh, why didn’t you ever think of that, “I wanted to restart those months. That’s what I meant, it’s what I should have said.” 

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you watched a tear drop glide off your nose into the box. You quickly wiped your eyes, not wanting to cry in front of him. 

“I wish you would have said that,” you admitted, giving him a sad smile.

 You closed the box, putting it back in the jacket pocket. You pulled off his jacket, placing it in his hands. With a breath to collect yourself, you smiled at him one last time. “I think I’m going to head home, thank you for telling me the truth.” 

You didn’t make it three steps before his hand wrapped around your wrist. 

“I watched you walk away before and I have regretted it every second of every day for ten years, I can’t just let you leave again,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. 

You closed your eyes, trying not to break down. Keeping your back to him, you moved to remove his hand from your wrist. He reluctantly let go, the both of you standing silently, tears falling freely. 

“Noya-”

“I still want you,” you felt him take a step closer, nearly touching you, “I still need you, I’ll make it right I swear, I’ve loved you from the moment  I saw you and haven’t stopped since.” 

You turned to face him, jumping slightly when you realized how close your faces were. His face was red and blotchy from the crying, his cheeks wet. You reached your hand up, wiping away his tears. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. 

“I haven’t met the one since we stopped talking because I always knew you are the only person for me,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his and closing your eyes. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. You felt his tears wetting your shoulder but you just cried with him. Holding him felt like waking up from a bad dream and realizing you’re safe. You have never felt as comfortable and safe in any aspect of your life than when he’s holding you. 

“Can we try again, properly y/n,” he whispered against your neck, tightening his hold on you.

“I never stopped loving you either,” you replied, pulling back and giving him a teary smile. 

When you two walked back into the reunion hand in hand, his initial hanging on your neck, it felt right. For the first time in forever, everything felt right. 

[needtherapy]

soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 20

An arranged-marriage story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13  Part 2: 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 … HOME

It’s complete on AO3 here.

Notes: Check the tags if you’re concerned about the pairings ;)

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr!

Chapter 20 Now

Xichen could not have guessed that the Ikarahu would throw a festival in an army encampment in the middle of a war. It seems so dangerous for so much of the army to be distracted. And yet here he is in the transformed sparring arena, surrounded by hundreds of people eating spicy meat grilled in huge open pits, drinking the sweet Ikarahu ale, dancing in pairs and circles, and singing boisterous, noisy songs. Any watching scout could see that there are brightly striped flags, strands of bells, and colorful lanterns looped over ropes suspended between posts around the outside of the arena. Xichen suspects the lanterns mean this festival will extend long into the night, and he tries to squelch the nagging concern.

After all, it is a party. It’s supposed to be fun.

Xichen had helped Huaisang hang lanterns for what felt like years, and Huaisang had explained that the festival was called Hatapi, a celebration of the ahuti’s birthday. The ahuti was considered a valued ruler as well, and the Hatapi was a chance to thank them.

“But really, it’s just an excuse to eat and drink,” he’d said, completely seriously. “Who doesn’t love that?”

When Xichen had asked how he had time to plan a festival, Huaisang had just laughed and said it was a yearly event, which gave him plenty of time.

“Right now Hatapi celebrates my mother’s birthday, but it used to be my grandfather’s birthday. And before that, my great-grandmother. It’s always celebrated on the birthday of the ahukau’s spouse,” Huaisang had winked. “Eventually, Hatapi will be on the eighth of…”

Xichen had slapped a hand over Huaisang’s mouth and refused to let him finish that sentence.

Even after Huaisang’s descriptions, Xichen hadn’t fully expected the sheer chaos of the day. It’s riotous and loud and full of surprises. There have been strength and skill contests all day: sword fights, hurling giant logs, foot races, even a surprisingly early drinking contest. Every winner gets a trophy and an enthusiastic clap on the back from Mingjue, and it pleases Xichen that it’s hard to tell which the winners prefer.

At the moment, Xichen, Qingyang, and Guangyao are watching the last contest of the day, the mounted archery competition, which Xichen has to admit is spectacular. More than fifty of the finest archers in the Ikarahu cavalry are riding without saddles or bridles in a tight circle, bows drawn, shooting arrow after arrow into bales spaced around the outside of the circuit. The judges, including Huaisang and Mingjue, are on the other side of the arena, both standing on horses, presumably for the vantage, which raises questions Xichen has never thought he would ask.

Guangyao sniffs. “It hardly seems like a challenge. They’re just riding in a circle.”

“Huaisang says the second half is more impressive.” Qingyang shrugs. “There are bonus points for style, but I don’t know what that means.”

They know immediately when the real competition begins. One by one, the riders take a circuit of the arena, making impossible shots as they stand on their horses or cling to the bellies of their horses or drop to the ground and bounce lightly off their toes to turn backward or dangle across the side of their horses to shoot from under their necks, hidden from view, all while galloping full speed. Xichen has simply never seen anything like it. He’s not sure there even is anything like it.

“My mother would have loved this,” Qingyang sighs, softly enough that Xichen almost doesn’t hear her above the din around them. “She missed the galio of her homeland more than anything else, I think. I’m sorry she never went back to Ikara before she died, but I’m glad I had as many years with her as I did.”

His own mother’s death is still a sharp pain in his side, but Qingyang doesn’t seem as unhappy as Xichen would expect. She looks at him with a wistful smile, one that seems to want to share this memory, so he ventures to ask, “When did she die?”

“Two years ago, before the Ikarahu came,” she answers, and Xichen squeezes her shoulder. So recently. He is amazed that she’s willing to talk about it.

She smiles at him, a bravely crooked tilt, and Xichen suddenly wants to tell her. To tell someone. Maybe sharing the pain will release it. Holding it tightly certainly has not.

“My mother died when I was twelve. Of a wasting sickness,” he says, and Qingyang makes a sympathetic noise. “I have always wished I had more time.”

Qingyang nods. “There is never enough, is there? I will always want to see her face again or hear her call me a-Yang. She was an artist too, and I was fortunate to work with her for years, until her fingers were no longer agile enough for fine details. The only comfort is that she didn’t have to…” Qingyang exhales sadly. “She didn’t have to know why I left Lanling.”

Guangyao is quiet and seems to be caught up in watching the last rider, a slim, short man who rides the circuit in constant motion. He is nearly a blur, bouncing off the ground, sliding under the horse’s belly to pop up on its other side, slinging under the horse’s neck, flipping backward, and somehow still shooting arrows. The crowd roars when he takes top honors and Mingjue bounds over to present him with the prize, a huge gold bowl filled with water that the man shares with his horse.

“My mother is dead too,” he announces, the words slicing cleanly through the noise of the crowd.

For once, Guangyao doesn’t seem to be trying to hide the emotion in his voice. He sounds as though he has been brutally stabbed in a wound that had not yet healed. When Xichen looks at him, there is such animosity on his face, his eyes narrowed to slits and his jaw clenched so tightly, Xichen can almost hear his teeth grinding together.

“Since you didn’t ask,” he says, his lips flattening into a tense slash. “I was seven when I found her. She wrote that she was sorry, as though she had something to apologize for.”

Xichen reaches out instinctively to slide his fingers around Guangyao’s tense hand, wanting to erase this terrible tragedy, this horror that still haunts his friend.

“Aitapaho, Qingyang, Yao-ti!” Mingjue’s booming voice interrupts, and Xichen jumps as though he’s been caught peeking at something forbidden, as though he’s been caught doing something forbidden.

Mingjue kisses Xichen firmly, with all the enthusiasm of a man thoroughly enjoying his life, but not before Xichen sees the quick, appraising look Huaisang gives him and Guangyao.

Guangyao sees it too, and laughs, the sound higher and more strident than usual. “We were only bonding, Oringa’anhu Ikira. Over stories of our dead mothers.”

He takes a deep, bracing breath as though he will say something else, something even worse, and Xichen is suddenly afraid of what it might be. Guangyao seems like a mirror about to shatter and slash whatever might be near it.

Huaisang grabs Guangyao’s wrist and interrupts him with a teasing grin. “Guangyao, you were wrong about the winner, so I am claiming your forfeit. You are required to learn the next dance. Ani?”

Guangyao frowns. “You didn’t tell me his horse was a galau, so I think you should forfeit,” he argues, but he lets Huaisang pull him toward the dancers.

Mingjue laughs and kisses Xichen again. He tastes like winter mint and joy, and Xichen lets it distract him. Mingjue can always distract him.

“Come, aitapaho. We will eat and drink and dance!”

Only part of that sounds enjoyable, and Xichen shoots Qingyang a pleading look, but she laughs at him too, shooing him away cheerfully as Titakau joins her. Friendship is not what it used to be, he thinks. He will have to get revenge later.

There is no reason he should not be able to learn this foot kicking, jumping, spinning dance, Xichen thinks crossly, but he is growing increasingly irritated with the frequency his feet get caught together, and he trips, falling against Mingjue, who only catches him with curious, roving hands. Finally, Xichen throws up his hands in exasperation.

“Ahoraho, I am going to watch,” he yells over the music, singing, and shouts of laughter.

In answer, Mingjue grabs Qingyang’s hand and drags her into the circle where she, Xichen notes enviously, picks up the steps almost immediately. Titakau silently hands Xichen a bottle of ale and he takes a drink.

“Roka iko auha em koni,” she tells him sympathetically, “Pia ei sakona auha em ga. Et taka ti eta engati hako.”

She’s right about that much. It is fun to watch. There are two lines of dancers, one on the inside, one on the outside. The two circles turn, flicking their heels in the air, kicking forward and backward, spinning from the inside line to the outside line, changing partners and changing back. It seems random and reminds Xichen of spinning maple seeds that flutter from the tops of trees in gusts of autumn wind.

Xichen catches sight of Huaisang, whose face is alight with mirth, and Guangyao, who looks—not quite angry anymore. Begrudging, perhaps. Huaisang leans in to say something and Guangyao rolls his eyes, but his expression softens. Huaisang tips his head back and laughs, suddenly spinning Guangyao toward Mingjue who catches his hand smoothly, exchanging it for Qingyang’s. Mingjue’s grin is impossible to resist, and a smile, one with dimples that reaches his eyes, settles on Guangyao’s face, and he shakes his head with a reluctant laugh. Mingjue’s face, which Xichen knows so well, shifts just slightly, from watchful hawk to satisfied cat, and he ruffles Guangyao’s hair as the song seems to finally end.

Xichen wonders. He wonders if Huaisang and Mingjue worked together to coax Guangyao out of his bleak mood. He wonders why. He wonders if there is something else here, a more complicated set of steps here than Xichen can comprehend.

As the night wears on, the crowd grows ever larger, including nearly every member of the Ikarahu encampment. Ale flows freely, the food tastes even more delicious grilled over huge open fires, and Mingjue convinces Xichen to try dancing again. It does not go any better than his first try, and in retaliation, Xichen trods on Mingjue’s toes. This is also unsuccessful, as Mingjue merely stops dancing and wraps his arms around Xichen, kissing him until his knees are weak and he forgets the whirling, swirling tumult around him.

“I’m ready for bed,” Xichen whispers to Mingjue.

Mingjue tightens his embrace and rests his forehead against Xichen’s. “After fireworks?” he asks hopefully.

Xichen nods, unable to resist the sweet, boyish grin. He traces one dimple with his thumb and Mingjue inhales, turning his face to Xichen’s palm. Xichen slips his fingers over Mingjue’s ear, into his hair, down the strong line of neck, and Mingjue sighs.

“Or now,” he says, voice husky, and Xichen chuckles.

“Now,” he agrees, taking Mingjue’s hand and leading him back through the crush of people where they run directly into Huaisang and Guangyao.

“Anakau! Xichen!” Huaisang hands Mingjue a bottle. “You have not toasted our mother with me! It’s tradition!”

Thwarted, Xichen can do nothing but take the bottle Guangyao offers him and raise it.

“Di ika gati,” Huaisang and Mingjue say the obviously familiar words together. “Sika galio, em inga oduna!”

Shaking his bottle at Guangyao and Xichen, Huaisang repeats the whole thing again, to long life, swift horses, and blue skies, until they join in.

Huaisang and Guangyao finish their bottles, and Xichen hands Mingjue the rest of his. He already feels lightheaded, and he doesn’t want to be drunk.

“What is your mother like?” Guangyao asks, surprising everyone. He looks like he regrets his words, though, and tenses as if preparing to run. “Does she enjoy this festival?”

Huaisang furrows his brow and answers the second question first.

“She endures it because my father loves it. Truly, she is the most generous person I know and the most terrifying.” An unconscious smile tilts his mouth. “She’s clever and stubborn and ambitious. She is not a soft mother, but she is wonderful. She would have been an exceptional ahukau, but she doesn’t like…” he looks at Mingjue for confirmation, “Being in the front of the room?”

“She is called Kiri’anata,” Mingjue offers. “It means…” He wiggles one hand and uses his other hand to move it around.

Huaisang laughs. “It means Shadow Hand,” he fills in, and Mingjue nods agreement.

Guangyao looks unusually confused. “It is known that she rules from behind your father?”

Huaisang shrugs. “They rule together, as partners. It’s not one or the other. They’re necessary to each other.”

Xichen can’t imagine what it must be like to have parents who love and respect each other. Who value each other.

He looks at Guangyao, who is staring at the ground, his expression a wholly neutral, blank mask Xichen recognizes from wearing it so often himself. Like now, when he is trying not to think of the treaty that forced Mingjue into this relationship or now, when he is trying not to think about what it means that Mingjue is the crown prince of his country and he is only Xichen.

“She is loved for who she is,” Mingjue adds, threading his fingers through Xichen’s.

“She is,” Huaisang agrees. “All the good and the difficult. Sometimes so difficult.” Huaisang’s eyes dance, and he laughs lightly, but he is watching Guangyao’s pensive, unchanging expression.

Huaisang is always watching everyone, Xichen thinks. Whatever he’s looking for, whatever it means to him, it’s too great a mystery for Xichen to puzzle out today. There is something else he would rather be doing.

“We’re leaving,” Xichen announces and turns, pulling Mingjue behind him. He looks back once to see Guangyao finally look up and meet Huaisang’s eyes without flinching.

The fireworks begin just before they reach Xichen’s tent, and the explosions reverberate through him, numbing his fingers and toes. Mingjue slows, intending to watch, but Xichen pulls him on, tugging off his coat before they’re even in the tent.

“Xichen,” Mingjue murmurs, cupping Xichen’s face in his hands, gentle as always. “What was your mother like?”

It isn’t what Xichen expected, but he says the first thing, the easiest, truest thing.

“She was beautiful.”

Xichen pauses and thinks. He seldom talks about his family. He rarely even talks about his former home. It has seemed like a necessary separation of the two halves of his life. And until now, Mingjue has never asked.

Xichen chooses this, too. He can not have a future without sharing his past.

“She told us stories of monsters and heroes. Stories of carp who became dragons, tigers who granted wishes,” Xichen says, smiling at the memories. “We played the guqin together. She was a healer. When we were boys, she taught my brother and I how to befriend the rabbits in the woods, although my brother was always more patient than me. Only the bravest rabbits would let me feed them.”

Mingjue laughs. “Ani, you are very fearsome, my bright heart.” He kisses Xichen’s forehead softly, lingering in the embrace. “Huan, will you tell me one of these stories?”

What can he do but agree? Xichen undresses Mingjue, and Mingjue undresses him, and they lay together in bed, legs tangled, Mingjue’s head on Xichen’s shoulder. Xichen tells him a story of a magical carp who granted bigger and more magnificent wishes to a man and his wife until the last wish was too greedy, too selfish, and the carp took everything away again.

“Tiras mau, Ahora’ipa,” Mingjue says drowsily, and Xichen smooths a hand over his hair and down his shoulder, listening to the sound of his breathing even out into sleep.

Love is such a surprise, he muses before he, too, falls asleep. It is a wonderful and perplexing surprise. Whatever their future holds, if he were to repeat the past, he would gladly pledge his heart and life, his honor and obedience to this man again, even if only in a treaty and not a true marriage contract. It is enough. Xichen curls deeper into the safety of Mingjue’s arms feeling lucky to have this much of him, his love and affection, and he will not wish for more, in case there comes a day he wants too much, and it is all taken away again.

Notes: Ahuti = The ahuti is the consort of the ahukau. It's gender neutral (as is ahukau). Roka iko auha em koni. Pia ei sakona auha em ga. Et taka ti eta engati hako. = I don't dance either, and I grew up with it. It's fun to watch, though.

[gilmores-glorious-blog]

think of all the fun i´ve missed (think of all the fellas that i haven’t kissed)

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merry (early) christmas @leifdonnellies! i was your secret santa and i had a lot of fun writing this fic for you :D i hope you enjoy it and have a great holiday season! (the title is from santa baby and really doesn’t fit with the fic all that well but i thought it was funny...)

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Tobin Batra knew every word in the English dictionary, and yet he still didn’t know the right words to describe the chaos that was SPRQ Point holiday parties. 

After going to one for this first time, Tobin immediately knew why STEM kids and queer kids were never the people throwing parties in high school. When you combined those groups into the group that was the fourth floor of SPRQ Point, the result was a drunken mess of a gathering. 

The floor was cleared off as it would be for any business-related gala, but instead of tasteful lighting and tech speeches, there were tacky Christmas lights strung up and shitty music blasting from every speaker. 

And yet, Tobin loved them. He loved his oddball group of friends and colleagues, and it was fun to hang out with them without any pressure of deadlines and CEO visits, and instead just a week-long break to look forward to. At recent parties, Zoey’s DJ friend Mo provided the music, and he did have objectively better music taste than anyone else there. Tobin liked Mo, and liked getting to chat with him at parties, mostly about music and queer stuff. Another plus of parties was seeing who gave the most outrageous white elephant gifts- Tobin was currently winning that competition ever since he gifted Max a live chinchilla a year ago. (Max still had the chinchilla. He named it Joan after their former boss, and it was beloved by everyone.) Yet another great thing about it was that it was the one night that they finally could replace the bread bar or oatmeal bar or whatever bar with an open bar, because apparently it was legal if it was for a party. But Tobin’s favorite thing about the holiday parties was the fact that it was the one night a year that his boyfriend let Tobin kiss him in front of their colleagues. 

Leif was surprisingly shy about PDA, and had been as long as Tobin had known him. His parents weren’t exactly the most touchy-feely people, with each other or with their children, and it had clearly rubbed off on Leif. Tobin was fine with this, of course, he’d never want to make his boyfriend uncomfortable. Plus the two lived together, and Leif was incredibly touch starved at home, so it wasn’t really a big deal that they never did more than very occasionally hold hands at work. That being said, Tobin discovered recently that Leif found it “morally wrong”- Leif’s words, not Tobin’s- to disobey the laws of mistletoe, and he planned to fully exploit that fact at the party.

Mistletoe was a big thing at these parties- because obviously it was, what chaotic Christmas party was complete without a tiny, slightly-poisonous plant that required you to kiss whoever’s nearest to you if you found yourself under it? When they arrived at the party, Tobin snatched a cluster of mistletoe that was hanging right outside the elevators. He figured that was a fair place to steal it from, because as much as he loved the tradition, it was a bit of a cruel place to hang it, catching people off guard like that. Leif glanced over and saw him grab it, but just rolled his eyes as Tobin winked at him and smirked. 

“Hey guys!” Zoey greeted as they joined the group. “You can put your gifts over there…” She pointed to a small pile before glancing at the package in Tobin’s arms with concern. “I do not want to know what’s in there this year.” 

Tobin smiled wide. “Well, I tried hard to top Joan the chinchilla, but I think it was my peak.” 

Leif and Zoey rolled their eyes in unison as Leif gave Tobin a shove towards the stack of gifts. 

Tobin soon joined the rest of the party, dragging Leif with him and forcing him to dance to the loud music with him. As per usual, Mo had created a killer playlist, albeit a bit of a weird conglomeration of songs. Any playlist that went from a stunning, slow cover of Someday At Christmas (that seemed to have been sung by the DJ himself) immediately into the original version of Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer had to be made by someone at least a little bit high. 

About an hour into the party, Tobin could tell that Leif was getting overwhelmed by all the people and the sounds, so he silently took his hand and pulled him into the nest. 

“Thanks,” Leif said once they were out of earshot of others. He rubbed his neck awkwardly as he sat down on the conference table. “Sorry, I don’t know what was happening back there, I’ve been better with social stuff for a while, I guess it just… I dunno… it’s still hard sometimes.”

“Bro, it’s okay, I get it. You never need to apologize about anxiety stuff. And it’s not going to be all better, all the time, and that’s okay. You’ve been doing so good lately, Leif, and you deserve to celebrate that.” Tobin sat next to Leif and put his hand over Leif’s. 

Leif turned to him and smiled softly. “Thank you, babe.” 

Tobin lay his head on Leif’s shoulder and began rubbing gentle circles on Leif’s hand with his thumb. “You’re welcome.” 

Neither man spoke for a few minutes, and Tobin could hear Leif doing some deep breathing, something he often did as a way to calm his anxiety. 

Eventually, when Leif seemed to have fully relaxed, he turned towards Tobin and smiled at him again. “Have I mentioned that you look really nice tonight?” 

Tobin laughed. “A few times. But you can tell me again.”

“Well you do. Really nice.” 

Leif leaned forward and kissed Tobin, and Tobin counted it a win that his boyfriend kissed him at work with no mistletoe involved. 

Tobin pulled away much sooner than he wanted to, because they were still at a party after all. “Hey, you ready to go back?”

Leif squeezed his hand before standing up. “Yeah. I think so.”

  The two of them left the conference room, and only got a few strange looks from the other party-goers as they made their way back to the group. 

“There you are!” Zoey said as she and Simon made their way over. “We were waiting for you to start gifts.” 

The next half-hour was spent in a flurry of white elephant chaos, filled with plenty of cursing and sighing and coming close to tears begging someone to please steal their gift because they don’t even play an instrument, why do they need sheet music for the wii theme?! Although none of the gifts came close to the glory of Tobin’s chinchilla, it was unanimously decided that Leif won this year’s most outrageous gift with the collection of small cowboy hats that Simon ended up with (something Simon was weirdly pleased with receiving.) Tobin had pouted about this decision, seeing as the hats had originally been his idea, but his boyfriend looked so pleased about winning such a stupid contest that Tobin let him take the win without too much complaining. 

It was getting late, and the party would likely be wearing to a close soon. People were still dancing, however- Leif being one of them. He and Zoey and Simon were in the middle of the floor, moving in a way that they must have considered “dancing” (but was really just a weird movement of limbs all over the place). 

The red and green lights were reflecting in Leif’s hair, making the blond curls glow in a way that could only be described as magical. His suit jacket had been abandoned at some point in the evening, so he was wearing only a deep red short sleeve dress shirt with a green vest over it. Despite the cliche color scheme, the outfit looked great on Leif. Tobin watched as Leif threw his head back in laughter at something Simon said, and felt a weird flutter in his heart at the sight. Even after nearly two years of dating Leif, and nearly twelve years of being in love with him, the other man never failed to make Tobin feel like he was fifteen again, looking over at the boy playing video games on the couch next to him, and being hit with a rush of feelings so sudden and so strong that Tobin thought he was dying. 

Tobin moved suddenly from where he’d been standing next to George, asking his friend to hold his drink for a moment. He joined Leif on the dance floor right as Santa Baby faded out (the dance moves done for that song did not bear repeating, to say the least), and faintly processed Mo announcing that their final song of the night was White Christmas because it had just started snowing in San Francisco, so of course it was. 

“Hey.” Tobin announced his presence as he sidled up next to Leif, swaying slightly to the melody. 

“Hi!” Leif turned around so quickly that he needed to steady himself by grabbing on to Tobin’s waist (nothing Tobin was complaining about), his face flushed from dancing. 

“Care to dance?” Tobin put his arms up and around Leif’s shoulders, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Zoey and Simon had begun to slow dance away from them, seemingly lost in each other. 

Leif just smiled in response and began leading Tobin slowly around the floor. Neither one of them were particularly great at dancing, but it didn’t matter. As Tobin heard the song drawing to a close, he fumbled in his jacket pocket for the mistletoe he had grabbed earlier. Upon finding it, he raised his arm above both him and Leif’s heads so that the mistletoe hung above them.

“Hey L.” Tobin said to get his boyfriend’s attention, because he’d somehow not noticed the commotion.

“Yeah?”

“Look up.” Tobin smirked.

Leif did so and immediately rolled his eyes and blushed.

“Well?” Tobin knew he was being obnoxious but didn’t care. “I seem to recall someone here saying that it was wrong to not follow the rules of mistletoe. Are you really gonna go back on your word now-”

Leif shut Tobin up by kissing him. 

Tobin smiled into the kiss, moving his non-mistletoe hand to cradle Leif’s face. People were probably staring at them, but he didn’t care. It’s not like no one knew they were together. 

Leif pulled back after a minute, slapping the mistletoe with indignance until Tobin lowered his arm. Their faces were still close, foreheads resting together.

“Merry Christmas Tobes.” 

Tobin gave Leif another quick kiss and smiled at him. “Merry Christmas Leif.” 

[kafka-ish]

sleep-over | b.d.

it’s been years since bill denbrough’s been to an actual sleepover. but when someone invites him over for the night, he can’t seem to pass up the opportunity to join them.

word count: 3,313

warnings/included: fluff, fem!reader

request: (from anonymous) “hiii could i please request a bill denbrough fic? you can decide what it’s about but just lots of fluff and something really cute”

a/n: repost bc my tumblr tags didn’t work on the last one and i didn’t realize until now,, also based off of this song 

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“Do you...do you want to come over?” y/n asked. Those were the first words to spill from her mouth when she dialed Bill’s phone at twelve-o-one a.m. She didn’t have to look out her window to know it was late because of the darkness that engulfed her room, but she also knew she had Bill wrapped around her finger and he’d do anything for her if she asked. 

“Luh-like a ss-sleepover?” Bill’s shoulder was pressing his phone to his ear as he paced back and forth in his room. He looked out his window to see nothing. Just a dark abyss that beckoned for him, the same way y/n did from over the phone. 

“Yeah. Like a sleepover.” y/n thought back to the multiple sleepovers she and he had before when they were younger. 

When dusk ate the day and it got too late, Bill would stay the night at the y/l/n’s house. Her mother would have y/n’s brother keep an eye on the two of them because god knows what would happen if the two were left alone (even at an early age). 

“Loser has to fit five marshmallows in their mouth,” y/n declared as she was setting up Candyland. She already had dibs on the purple gingerbread man so Bill supposed he’d just have to play as yellow. 

“Oh-oh-okay.” A wide smile formed on a young Bill Denbrough’s mouth and his chest moved in sync with the guffaws he was trying to contain. “B-b-but I don’t think your...your mouth is that big.” 

y/n’s grin matched his and Bill had gotten cocky that night because he had found y/n’s gingerbread man crossing the rainbow finish line before his and he could only hold three of the Jumbo Jet-Puffs in his mouth. 

“I’ll b-be ri-right over.” Bill had unintentionally slammed the receiver back on the dial pad. He had never been so fast to pack up in his entire life, but he also didn’t take much; just a fresh pair of boxers, a change of basketball shorts, a t-shirt similar to the one he was wearing, and his toothbrush. It had been forever ago since he and a friend like Stan or Mike spent the night at each other’s houses. It had been a lifetime ago since he spent the night at y/n’s house. 

He walked—no—ran out the door, almost forgetting his shoes in the process (which he slipped on without socks). His duffle bag was light on his arm and threatened to slip off more than once if Bill hadn’t been careful. He made it to y/n’s house in record’s time, but he also lived four blocks away. 

Bill waited outside of y/n’s door. His fingers fought with each other and he noticed that the green porch light was still on. 

“What are you doing?” y/n called down from above. She could freely yell into the earth’s crisp air because the neighborhood was asleep, and she didn’t have to worry about her brother who was sleeping in one of the dorms Duke University provided. 

“I didn’t know if I should knock or not,” Bill answered honestly. He knew y/n was rolling her eyes at his response whether he could see her face clearly or not. He could hear her loud footsteps—rushed and enthusiastic—from inside the house as she trampled down the stairs to let him in.

“Hi!” She looked up at him wide-eyed and bushy-tailed because Bill stood tall and lean while y/n was like a dainty sprig—fragile and still waiting for spring to bloom—at least compared to him.

A smile couldn’t help but draw itself on Bill’s face when she greeted him. She was dressed in a white tank top and cotton sleep shorts and it was in that moment when Bill realized how much she’d grown. How much they’d all grown.

“Are you ready?” y/n eyed him curiously because it’d been seconds since she said anything and Bill had yet to reply. 

“Ye-yeah,” Bill said. He stepped in. “Where?” Gulp. “Where should I puh-puh-put this?” He held up the seemingly empty duffle and y/n took it from him only to toss it aside next to the potted plant that greeted guests as they walked in. 

“We can come back for it later. Now come on.” She was dragging him back outside. “I need an adventure!” She locked the door behind them with her golden house key she had turned into a necklace by feeding a length of black lace through the middle hole. She wore that thing everywhere she went. 

“Ad-adventure?” One of Bill’s untrimmed eyebrows raised and y/n nodded as soon as the word left his mouth. “I th-th-hought this was a s-sl-sleepover.” 

y/n giggled. Her small hand only covered a third of his as she grabbed it and led him from her front lawn and across the street. “Who actually sleeps at a sleepover?” 

That was true. As he recalled, the last time he ‘slept over’ at Richie Tozier’s house, neither of them had actually closed their eyes. 

Bill hadn’t noticed he was now in front and y/n stood a few paces behind him until he felt the warmth of her hand leave his. She was taking the time to light the cigarette she had balanced between her bottom and top lip. Bill chuckled softly at the sight behind him. She was a sight for sore eyes. 

He stepped back to meet her figure whose nimble fingers were concentrating on flicking the purple BIC at hand. 

“Nuh-need help?” Bill took the lighter from her and it came to life with one swift move of his thumb. 

“Yo-you know s-s-s-smoking is... Once you start, you cuh-can’t s-s-s-top.” Bill said this as if her were a father, telling his child about the dangers of drug usage. But he still lit the stick that was poking from y/n’s pouting lips. 

She took a drag from the cigarette. It was long and she coughed afterward because she hated the taste. Bill could tell she wasn’t an experienced smoker and that this had probably been her second pack. “I’m already addicted,” she said. The cigarette muffled her words. But it wasn’t the nicotine she was addicted to. She was addicted to fitting in.

Bill shook his head which he’d inadvertently thrown back while he was consumed in laughter. “You guh-guh-got an-hother one?” He asked and y/n reached in the elastic of her waistband to grab a pack of Mavericks (a gift from Bev). The box was full except for one and she had also stashed a twenty-dollar bill in the gaping space between the tobacco sticks.

“I didn’t take you for a smoker,” y/n said while tossing him a smoke.

“Fuh-first time for eh-everything.” Bill shrugged and lit the end like a natural. It wasn’t his first time, he just said that to make y/n feel better. 

The two walked in comfortable silence. y/n was still trailing behind, but only to admire Bill’s frame under the white moonlight—not to enjoy her barely smoked cigarette because maybe she wanted pink lungs until she was old and wrinkled and had to have be waited on hand and foot at the nursing home.

It took them ten minutes to arrive at a worn-down gas station and it would’ve taken them five if y/n wasn’t lollygagging or if Bill didn’t stop to point at the stars every three seconds.

“Lo-ook at that one!” He’d say with the innocence of a child. His sneakers would make a scraping sound against the abandoned road when he came to a halt and y/n would bump into his shoulder because she never looked where she was going.

“It kind of looks like the mole on the back of your-“ Bill nudged her, causing her to wobble and drop the Maverick. It was one with nature now. Good riddance.

Bill put out his own half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray that sat on top of the garbage can next to the glass doors of the QwikTrip.

It was bright inside. Too bright. The empty gas station felt completely different from when they were slumming it in the outside and dancing to the sound of crickets chirping.

But y/n didn’t notice. She was too busy in her own world, mixing together a cherry and coke flavored slushie to make cherry coke. She watched in childlike wonder at the contents inside the slushie machine that whirled ‘round and ‘round so the ice could mix thoroughly with the syrup (a slushie with an imperfect ice-to-syrup ratio was not a slushie; it was just flavored ice). She didn’t notice the guy working the cash register who was obviously checking her out.

But Bill did.

An odd feeling struck at his heart which was now beating faster as he watched the greasy boy about their age eye his childhood friend.

“H-have you ever dr-dr-“ Bill paused. “Had alcohol?” Bill wondered aloud. y/n had just finished preparing Bill’s slushie for him—plain banana—so her attention could now focus on just him. Internally, Bill was banging his head against the wall for asking such a stupid question. But that’s what y/n made him in recent developments: stupid.

Every teenager drinks he thought to himself. But y/n wasn’t like every teenager. 

“No.” y/n shook her head and Bill found his eyes roaming to the liquor case in the back of the store. 

They both knew what each other meant and Bill just about dashed to the fridge the same way he dashed out his door when y/n called him that night. 

y/n was waiting for him at the paying counter. She took small sips at her cherry coke slushie but luckily Bill didn’t take too long. He came back, holding a clear bottle of liquid that y/n didn’t know the name of. He set the glass on the counter and reached in his pocket only for his heart to fall twelve meters into its grave because he left his wallet at home.

“Don’t worry about it,” y/n reassured. Her hand settled on his momentarily. “I’ll get it. Just wait outside.”

So he did. But waiting outside nearly killed him.

“These please.” y/n gave the stranger her biggest smile, teeth and all, as she pushed the bottle of gin and two slushie cups across the counter for him to scan.

“Was that your boyfriend?” The cashier asked. His face could be mistaken for a pepperoni pizza and his blonde hair was uncombed. The graveyard shift really does some things to people.

“No...” y/n blushed and the stranger thought it was because she found him attractive. It was actually the idea that other people thought of Bill and her as a couple that caused y/n’s cheeks to tint. y/n looked up at the boy through her long lashes and it should be counted as a crime to not know the effect you have on the people around you.

A sly smile reached all the way to the boy’s eyes. “You know what? It’s on me.” He printed out her receipt. There were just three items marked as $0.00. The only numbers that added up to something were the ones on the bottom which he said was his phone number. “Call me.” He winked.

Bill felt like he was being stabbed all from watching the two flirt and before another invisible knife could make another incision in his already delicate heart, y/n was out the door. Two diabetes-filled cups occupied both hands while a plastic bag hung from her arm.

“Hi!” She said this in the same way she greeted him.

Bill covered his mouth when he coughed before sputtering out a hi.

She sat down on the curb outside of the gas station, her legs crossed like a pretzel. She sat both cups down, taking a sip from both straws. Her tropical-flavored chapstick tainted his red straw and Bill would taste pineapple mixed with banana later when he took a sip.

y/n’s mouth tingled at the taste of banana slushie. Who the hell gets a banana slushie? She supposed she’d never get used to the taste, but it was worth a try.

Bill took a seat on the rough pavement next to her. He knew his ass would hurt once he got up, especially if they would sit like this for a while, but he didn’t care.

“D-d-do you want… muh-muh-maybe wuh-want to g-g-go somewhere no… nobody will see?” Bill asked tentatively.

y/n smiled with the plastic still between her teeth. It was a more pleasant feeling than rolled-up tobacco. “Who would even see us here?”

Bill laughed but he thought back to how the cashier was eyeing her while she fixed her slushie. It wasn’t the same way he’d look at her. It was slimy and gross. But that was behind them now as he slipped an arm around her and held her close.

His shirt was old and worn, but it felt soft and homey against the skin of her cheek. She nuzzled close into his chest, feeling his ribcage and smelling the Old Spice that lingered from when he applied it earlier in the afternoon.

She hadn’t been this close since their last sleepover.

They were thirteen and y/n had originally invited him over to watch High Society on the new television set her parents bought and finally got around to setting up in the den. She promised she wouldn’t get jealous if he stared at Grace Kelly because he’d tell her the same about Gregory Peck. But Bill didn’t get the chance to stare because the ribbon was detached from the VHS, ruining their whole plans.

Bill wouldn’t have stared anyway—not when there was someone worth staring at who sat on the couch next to him.

“I’m so sorry.” It must’ve been the tenth time she apologized but Bill only waved his hand like how he wished he could wave the rest of her worries away. “I didn’t know it was all screwy... It’s been years since I’ve actually put the damn thing in.”

“Don-don’t-t worry ab-b-bout it,” Bill said. He glanced up at the clock on the mantle. It was getting late and the beginning of a sunset could now be seen from outside the living room window.

“You should be getting home.” y/n was looking at the clock with him. Bill shook his head.

“Ih-it’s ff-fine.” He shoved a handful of popcorn that y/n popped herself in his mouth. “Do-do you h-h-have an eh-eh-extra toothbrush? O-o-or I cuh-cuh-could leave early.”

y/n knew what he was referring to and a smile graced her already angelic lips. She was getting excited just at the thought of having a companion by her side during the witching hour. y/n jumped to her feet and skipped over to Bill on her bare feet. “What will you sleep in?... I could offer you my nightgown!” She laughed at the image in her head which projected a picture of a scrawny Bill Denbrough wearing one of y/n’s frilly nightdresses even she didn’t wear anymore.

“I cuh-cuh-can ju-just sleep in th-th-this.” He shrugged and y/n could only think that boys were strange.

By the time both of them had brushed their teeth, Bill was already tuckered out. Maybe it was from watching y/n mess with the VHS player for so long. Or maybe it was from running over to y/n’s house when she had excitedly announced her parents set up a new television set and she wanted him to be the first one over to experience it and his legs were still tired from carrying him.

“Do you want to watch a different movie? I’d hate to invite you over just to not do anything.” y/n picked at her fingernails, too afraid to meet Bill’s eye because she was scared he hated her.

Bill could never hate her.

“Nah.” Bill spread out on her double bed that she had made prior. He sunk into the plush covers and felt himself doze off until y/n hit him with a pillow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She was hovering over him, scared that she’d fall and break her neck if she lost balance.

“Sl-sleeping.” Bill closed his eyes once more. “I’m kuh-kuh-kinda t-t-tired.”

“Move over.” y/n wasn’t tired, but she’d do whatever Bill wanted. She laid down next to him and there couldn’t possibly be enough room on the bed for both of them—at least with the way Bill was spread out.

She snuggled close to him, able to smell the toothpaste he used and the natural smell of vanilla that clung to his skin.

But right now, Bill didn’t want the night to end as they sat three years older and in an empty parking lot. If BIll had one wish, he��d wish this night would last forever. Just him and her and the space surrounding them.

y/n’s eyelids felt heavy and her legs felt gelatin-like. She fell into a dreamlike trance while Bill’s arm acted as a blanket around her, but she didn’t want the night to end like this.

“Ar-are you t-t-tired?” Bill asked. y/n could feel his arm remove itself from her and she visibly shivered.

“No,” she lied but he knew better than that.

“I’ll wuh-wuh-walk you h-home.”

Their trek back to y/n’s house was slower than it was when they left it. y/n didn’t mind. She basked in the presence of Bill’s calming aura and Bill felt the same. Both of them, however, were too afraid to tell each other that.

y/n could barely keep herself stood upright on her own. Bill had to stabilize her with his left hand. His right hand was gently figuring out a way to remove the key necklace that hung from her neck.

“That tickles!” y/n giggled loudly when the icy tips of his fingers brushed her sensitive skin.

“Shh,” Bill whisper shouted. “Th-there are puh-puh-people sleeping.” He looked at the time on his digital watch. Not for long, anyway.

“Shh,” y/n echoed back to him. 

The front door creaked open. Bill cringed and hoped it wouldn’t wake her parents, but y/n told him it shouldn’t matter because they were heavy sleepers. He trusted her.

When both of them stepped in, y/n was the one to shut the door just like she had when they left. Afterward, they tip-toed up the stairs. Bill clutched his duffle bag and y/n still had the plastic one which contained the alcohol.

“Fuck...” y/n giggled at the curse word that left her lips. “Marry, or kill.”

“What’re m-my options?” Bill slurred. He was too scared to look up at her, so he looked at the dark ceiling. He was sprawled out on her bed—taking up most of the room—like he did when they were thirteen.

“Me, Beverly, and...” y/n sighed. She forgot the name of the girl who sat in front of her in math class. “Henrietta Simons.”

“Huh-who’s Henrietta?” Bill asked, but he already knew his answer.

“Someone you should kill.” y/n shrugged and stared at the ceiling with him, trying to find out what was so interesting about it.

“Kuh-kill Henrietta,” Bill said, and a proud smile found its way on y/n’s lips. “Fuck-ck Bev, an-” He didn’t really have to finish after that.

“You wouldn’t have sex with me?” y/n asked. She was only teasing but Bill knew she wouldn't have said that if she was sober.

“It-it’s not luh-luh-like th-that.” Bill took a deep breath and he didn’t know if this was the night he wanted to be saying all of this but that’s what everything felt like it was leading up to. “I guh-guess I ju-just want t-to marry you.” Bill closed his eyes at the drunken words that thought would be okay to leave his mouth.

“I wanna marry you too,” y/n said through a series of hiccups and a fit of laughter.

They both knew what was coming next. And even though neither of them didn’t want the night to end, it had to.

[ilguna]

Belamour - Chapter Nine (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing, murder plot

wc; 11.2k

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Today marks the eighth day of the Hunger Games, you think. If you’ve been keeping track of it correctly, it’s been a week, and today is the eighth day. You’d like to say that the time has flown, but the days feel like they drag on forever. Especially with how hot it’s been during the day. It feels like you’re living through lifetimes in the span of a couple of days.

You should probably clarify that today is the eighth day of the games for you guys. Time typically moves differently inside of the arena, and it’s because the gamemakers are always trying to make something happen. Whether that be fights, or just plain death, it’s all dependent on the circumstances.

All you know is that your brothers and family friends have watched you survive in here, and come close to death three times now. The first one being Horace, the second being the mutts, and the third being the boy from Twelve. Although, you don’t think he counts much, holding you underwater was his own death wish.

Reed and Mox are probably beginning to gain hope on the situation. If you’ve survived an entire week, and managed to form a schedule of sorts, then you should be on track to go home. All you have to do is not fuck up between now and then. Don’t pick too many fights, drink plenty of water and eat more than enough food.

Keep your allies close but your enemies closer.

This morning was eerie. Allio didn’t say a word, mostly made grunting noises when Lennox suggested that him and Allio go out to try and hunt. It’s been three days since the storm, so the animals should be appearing back in the woods, but there’s no promises. If they come back with nothing, you’re going to be sent out to the pond.

As soon as the boys left, you and Trink had a quick conversation about how weird it was. You suggested the fact that he’s probably still mad at you three for yesterday, and she agreed. As soon as it was over, you and her started going through boxes to find any stray food.

She ended up finding one full of food. The cornucopia is normally plentiful with all sorts of stuff, so you weren’t surprised that she found it so quickly. The next thing to do was gather all the garbage and make a trash can of sorts. Already, you’ve thrown out wrappers and old bones.

It isn’t until you’re throwing out a fish’s skeleton, when you realize that it might be possible to make a soup out of these. Like chicken and beef broth, but instead with bones. Then you seem to remember that you never watched your brothers when they made it. You were always either out of the house or doing something in your room.

And the others don’t mind the fish--you could care less about eating it every night--but if you continue to make them eat it, or anything that has to do with it, they’re going to riot. It wouldn’t hurt to at least propose it, so you make note and toss the skeleton into the box.

“Hey, you know what I just thought of?” Trink is sitting in the sand, passing over trash when she finds it.

“What?” you ask, grabbing another handful and throwing it into the box. It looks like that’s the last of it. 

You shut the lid on the box, and leave it unlocked, hoping that’ll be a good enough signal to you later that it’s the trash box. If not, the placement of where it is should be good enough for your memory.

“Snares.” she says, “We make snares and set them up in the woods, just so we don’t have to be out there hunting the entire time.”

You nod distantly, thinking it over. It’s not a bad idea. You could catch things overnight and go to grab the animals in the morning, and just reset it, you think. You’ve never had to do something like that before, so it’s more or less a toss up. 

“Do you know how to make one?” you ask.

She’s shaking her head, face turning a light shade of red, “No, I was hoping you’d know.”

And your eyebrows are drawing in, “Why?”

“You and Finnick were at the snare station during the training days, remember?”

For a moment, you’re about to deny it all, not being able to recall a single moment like that. It hits you, after that. Sitting at the snare section with the incredibly impressed expert, and how you taught Finnick knots when he asked. It really does feel like years ago, when it was literally two weeks ago.

And the more it comes back to you, the more you seem to realize that you never actually learned any snares. You were more focused on trying to figure out new ways to tie knots, hoping that whatever the expert tried to teach you, you already knew and it would come back to you in that moment.

You fucked up, majorly. You spent an hour or so at that station without spending a single second of actually learning how to tie a snare. A skill that would now help to keep you all from starving. You grit your teeth, because who’s the one person that spent more time at that station after his first alliance was gone? Finnick.

You look over at Trink, shaking your head before the words form on your tongue. She seems to understand, maybe thinking that you don’t remember. Or maybe the change of expression told her that you don’t know how to tie snares at all.

“It’s no big deal.” she says, “I’m looking forward to fish for dinner, anyway. Even if it’s not the greatest, we can rely on it, hopefully.”

“Yeah.” you agree.

It’s only a few minutes later when the boys come back, absolutely nothing in their hands. Lennox tries to offer an apology, but you figured that this would happen. The gamemakers are keeping the animals from supplying the woods, what’s new? After all the shit they’ve thrown your way recently, it’s only customary.

You pack up your things, collect the empty water bottles, and leave for the pond. On the way, you hum a fisherman’s tune and try to recall the actual words to it. There’s a ton of variations to them, and you remember bits and pieces from the original and all the remakes. By the time you reach the pond, you’ve made a frankenstein version of the song.

You grab the fishing pole and then unpack your things, laying it all out. First, you get the water and purify it. You line the canteens up to make sure that they aren’t taking up a huge amount of room inside of the backpack. After that, you dig through the dirt to find a worm, making the situation beneath your nails worse.

At this point, you’re sure that it’s just stained that dark brown color. There’s really no other way to explain it. There’s a baby blue on the top, and a dark brown beneath the bottom. Picking at it has done nothing but aggravate you. So, you sit in tired silence and wait for the fish to bite.

You can imagine that your brothers are picking out everything that you’re doing wrong. Cringing when you choose to do one thing over the other, they’ve probably already found out ways to make your fishing pole better, and are just waiting for you to realize it too. You’ve already considered crackers and stuff like that, but it’ll eventually break off in the water, and you’ll just waste the food.

You wish that you were able to hear them and what they have to say. Beg them for advice on what to do. Allio is just becoming a bigger problem, the more that time goes on. The food is becoming more scarce, it’s hot here during the day and last night the weather plunged terribly, enough to make you grab out a second jacket from a box.

All you want is to survive, and it keeps getting harder the more that the days go on. You wish that the gamemakers weren’t allowed to interfere, and just had to watch from the sidelines. Of course, the games wouldn’t be nearly as interesting but manipulating the weather is unfair.

You pull out the first fish, and go right back in for a second. This one seems to bite only minutes later, faster than the first. You go to place the second fish down, only to find that the first is missing, with no sight of it around you. Your eyes barely manage to catch a quick movement in the bushes, and the knife is in and out of your hand in a flash.

“Shit!” a voice hisses, you jump to your feet, fingers fumbling for the sword to catch the thief before they have a chance to run.

You have the sword raised, prepared for the other tribute to jump at you. And you just barely peer around the bushes, about to swing and end it. But you catch yourself mid-air once you see who it is. His dark, curly hair is so familiar and it catches you off guard almost immediately.

He’s got a knife clutched in his hands, eyes wide and staring up at you. There actually seems to be some wince on his face, like he was fully prepared to accept his fate with the sword. Leave it to him not to even think of defending himself. 

“Blaire?” you ask, eyebrows drawing together as you survey the area around him.

You’re looking for Finnick and Thyme, they have to be around here somewhere, right? They’re supposed to be grouped up together, so it would only make sense for them to be traveling together. Then again, you’re with the careers and you came down here by yourself. On the other hand, you wanted it that way. 

You find no one around him. Maybe Blaire volunteered to go alone, like you? But that doesn’t make sense, Finnick typically travels with other people, no matter the weather or what they wish. You remember all the times in the rain, and how he’d walk his friends, girls and guys, home after school. Especially the ones that were looking upset.

One more look at Blaire, and you can see that his cheeks have sunken in, no longer as chubby as they were during the week in the Capitol. He’s been starving, and traveling down to look at his hands, it makes sense why he was stealing the fish. He’s hungry.

“Where’s Finnick?” you ask, looking back at him. 

A fish in one hand, and a knife in the other. The longer you stare at the knife, the more you recognize it. Again, you’re looking at his face, and the guilty expression seems to set in. There’s only one knife that looks like it, and it’s the exact design of the one that had been stolen out of your backpack.

Good news, you found the thief that took the entirety of the feast from your backpack in the shack. It explains the disappearance of the food and the knife. Bad news, you accused Allio when it had nothing to do with him, which means that there is undoubtedly a bounty placed on your head, and he’s probably explaining it to them right now. It still doesn’t explain the grapes.

A part of you is angry, because Blaire has caused this riff in the alliance whether he knows it or not. And it’ll be nearly impossible to repair without explaining to them how you know that it wasn’t Allio. It would give up Blaire’s position, and how you didn’t kill him on sight. Even worse if he doesn’t shut up in the sky.

On the other hand, you’re fairly impressed. He managed to get passed four sleeping career tributes, steal the food and leave without making a single sound. The timing and execution is amazing, and you know for a fact that you wouldn’t be able to pull off something like that.

Unfortunately, his luck has run out.

Blaire’s shaking his head, the wince from his face fading as you lower your sword. For now, you have absolutely no intention of killing him. He’s too kind, and you know that the stealing was for his own survival. Even if you’re in the Hunger Games, you can appreciate it. 

“I don’t know.” he says, you offer your hand out to him, but since his hands are full, he can’t grab it. Your arm falls back to your side.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You haven’t seen him at all? You’re supposed to be with Finnick and Thyme. Don’t you have an idea of where they are?”

He gets to his feet, you can see the damage you did to his leg, now. It’s a nick, enough to surprise him and make him think that you did some serious damage. You find your little knife a few feet away. You pick it up, and await his answer.

“I haven’t seen them at all since the first day. We all split up, I didn’t even know that Verda was going to the cornucopia.” Blaire frowns, “She died in the bloodbath, right?”

You nod quietly, bringing him over to where you had been sitting before by the pond. You throw the hook back into the water, “Yeah, it was a quick death, though. I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t any of us that had done it. Definitely wasn’t me.”

“You’re still with the careers?”

“Yeah.” you look over to him, “What have you been doing this whole time? Other than stealing from us.” 

His face flushes, and he opens his mouth and then closes it. He shakes his head, eyes closed and then he looks down to the dirt, “I was hungry.”

“You left nothing.”

“Can you blame me? You guys looked well off, I didn’t see a harm in it at all. And I didn’t leave nothing, I left the crackers and figured that would be good enough. That and the water.” Blaire’s still got a grip on the fish, you have a feeling that you won’t be getting it back.

You pull up another fish, place it on the plastic, and then go right back in again, “We’ve been sharing food. One measly rabbit for four people, it’s not exactly the best. Doesn’t sit right with them.”

He hums, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Take the fish, and a thing of water.” you reach into the bag, pulling out the water bottle you’d used, it’s full of water, “Should be clean.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah. Clean out the cut on your thigh to keep it from being infected.”

You can’t believe that Blaire doesn’t know where they are. So much for a second-hand alliance, none of them are together. Verda’s dead, Blaire is wandering the woods alone, starving. And who knows what’s happened to Finnick and Thyme? It could very well be Blaire’s situation but better or worse, depending on where they are.

You’re so guilty. This isn’t directly your fault, because Finnick had his own alliance so he should have been able to find all of them just fine. But had you… you’re the older tribute, you were supposed to be watching over him. Yet, he’s off somewhere, maybe alone, maybe starving and dehydrated.

Finnick might have broken the agreement on the alliance with the careers, but he’s your friend. Finnick and you have known each other for years. Had you just spent time changing his mind and reassuring him, he might be with you now. You were just so mad that he had turned his back on something so great.

There’s no way of knowing now, if you two could have survived out here. Knowing him, he would’ve wanted to stay away from the cornucopia entirely. Which just means going into the woods with absolutely nothing and banking on sponsors. You know how to do things like start fires, and hunt without all the good stuff, but it just helps.

Then again, you did warn Finnick. You told him that going about this alone or without the careers would be harder. There’s not as many people watching your back. And of course, at some point they’re going to be unreliable and dangerous. But you’ve survived this far, and you’ve only just come across problems.

As far as you know, the games are halfway over. There’s eleven dead, and it’s been a steady flow. In eight more days, the games could be over and you could be going home. 

Blaire dips his hand into the water, pulling out a handful of water as he dumps it onto his thigh. His face twists, a hiss coming from his lips. You feel sorry for him, it has to hurt and it’s going to hinder his walking. But it’s what he gets. It’s justice, in your mind.

Doesn’t mean you can’t help him out somewhat. You and Blaire might not have talked to each other for long, but you don’t feel uncomfortable around him. And he seems to be pretty relaxed, too. You wonder if he sees you as a friend directly, or a friend of a friend.

Sticking the fishing pole between your calf and your thigh, you dig through the backpack for the first-aid. You pull it out, and toss it to him, hoping that he knows what he’s doing, and won’t have to ask you for advice. For a moment, you can see him staring out of your peripheral, and then he takes it.

“I really am sorry, (Y/n).”

“It’s fine.” you mutter.

Blaire doesn’t say anything else for a while. He washes out the blood, waits for his calf to dry, and then places a bandage on top of it. When he’s done, he carefully shuts the first aid and holds it out for you. You take it, tuck it back into its spot, and pull up the next fish that comes around.

Three should be good enough. You wrap it all up in the plastic once the newest one is done squirming, and then place the package into the backpack, right next to the water. 

Blaire’s watching you closely again. Once you’ve zipped up the bag, you look at him, “Good luck.”

“Won’t you be down here tomorrow?”

“Not if we get something from the woods.”

Blaire looks down to the fish in his hands, “It’s been quiet.”

“We know.” you get up, placing the knife back into its spot on your belt, and then the sword. You throw the fishing pole into the bushes and then turn to look at Blaire, “If I have time, I’ll leave something for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Find a place to stay, Blaire.” you tell him, starting your way back to the cornucopia.

The walk is quiet, Blaire doesn’t follow. You manage to get back before sundown, and your allies have already got a fire started. You all get rid of the scales on the fish, then Lennox gets to cooking.

Allio still says nothing, not even when he’s offered food or if you guys ask if he wants more. Eventually, he gets up without a word and goes to take a walk, leaving just the three of you in the cornucopia. A part of you wants to tell them that you saw Blaire down at the pond, but figure that won’t go over well.

You obviously didn’t kill him, and explaining what happened with the food won’t be the best, either. Even if they were to get on your side, you’re sure that suspicions would start to rise. Unless you lied and said that you tried to kill Blaire and he got away. It would explain why he didn’t die immediately but then it would be a waiting game, and wishing death on him.

And coming clean to Allio, he’ll probably find a way to spin it on you. The two of you have made your distaste for each other clear, and Trink is the same way. The only semi-neutral person in this group anymore is Lennox. And you’re sure that’ll only be a matter of time before he’s turned again Allio, especially with the attitude that he has.

Allio has just come back from the woods, a dead rabbit in his hands and a victorious look on his face, when a cannon blasts. The look almost disappears, changing to confusion. But then he hands off the rabbit to Lennox, and takes a seat in his regular spot.

“Nice catch.” Trink murmurs, but it’s clear you’re all still puzzled about the cannon.

It could be anyone except you guys. Blaire, Finnick, Thyme, you think Mac is still alive and both the tributes from Eight. There’s one more, you’re sure of it, but can’t seem to think of who it is. Six tributes, the possibilities are endless.

Allio opens his mouth, another cannon cuts him off. Two tributes. Two tributes are dead.

You press your lips together. Could be Blaire, could be Finnick and Thyme. Could be Mac and Blaire, or both of the Eight tributes if they were caught off guard. Endless, really. Until you get to see the sky and their faces tonight.

You hope you didn’t call their deaths, Blaire and Finnick. You have the worst type of luck with things like that, pointing out how they could happen and then it happening. It knocks two players out of the game, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t matter. 

“Two.” Allio says, as if you all don’t know.

Trink’s pulling her hair out of her face, “Probably a fight between three people.”

You nod along, and Lennox shrugs, “Mutual kill?”

“Isn’t that rare?” Trink asks, “Like I’ve never seen that ever.”

“Probably, I thought that there was one year when it happened, though.” Lennox begins to scoop up the scraps to throw into the trash box, but you’re flying across the small space to stop him, “What?”

“I can use this as bait.” your eyes scan the surrounding area, trying to find something to put it in. The spare canteen bottles come to mind.

After finding one, you pack as much as you can inside, and tuck the can somewhere cold. It’s not going to stay good for long, which means that you’ll have to use as much as possible, and then empty it out to start over. For now, it’ll have to work.

It’s agreed between you guys that it should be an early night. You wait for the death recap in the sky with them, finger crossed for whatever reason. You don’t want it to be anyone you know, but on the other hand, it would be easier. You wouldn’t have to kill them later on, if someone did all the work for you.

The music starts, the blue emblem of the Capitol appearing in the sky. You watch and wait patiently, heart beginning to beat in your chest. It isn’t that big of a deal, you take deep breaths to calm yourself down.

The first face in the sky is the girl from Eight, which immediately knocks out Blaire and Finnick. It leaves two tributes, though. The boy from Eight, and Thyme. Both tributes from Districts Nine and Ten are dead, both of them died during the bloodbath.

“It’s Thyme.” you say, and you really do call it. She’s next to appear in the sky, her district number below her face. 

You turn towards an empty space in the sand, writing out initials. T and L for Trink and Lennox, A for Allio, B for Blaire. One for yourself, F for Finnick, M for Mac, and a number eight for the boy from Eight. And then a question mark, because you still can’t recall where the last tribute is from.

Nine tributes left in the game, four of them being you guys, and five being everyone else. It could be two girls left in the game, and it could be three. Which leaves six or seven boys. 

You suddenly begin to worry about the alliance, one more death from one of the stray tributes, will mean an even score. You’ve seen this problem happen many times before, the career tributes all turning on each other. That or they split up, and you can’t see that happening without one of you dying.

One of you has to go to keep the alliance intact. You’ve been relying on it for this long, and you’re not about to get killed because of paranoia going on in the group. You quickly rub out the sand, and then look up to the others. There’s a sadistic smile on Allio’s face, and you know immediately. He has to go.

“We’re getting closer and closer.” Allio says, and then his eyes drag over to you.

You don’t like this. You’re the youngest, they’re all older than you by one or two years. To Allio, you’re small and weak, and possibly the most useless one still in the group. But as far as you know, he’s got no kills on his head, and you’ve got four. And you’re sure that Lennox and Trink still think that he’s the one that ate all of his food.

There’s evidence.

It’s obvious. You wonder if he knows this too.

You give them a lighthearted smile, because for now, they’re not going to kill you. They’re going to keep you around, because you’re their only supplier of food right now. You have until the animals begin to show themselves in the woods again. Which could be any day now.

The anthem finalizes loudly, and the outside is dark again. Inside the cornucopia, the fire is still going, still giving off plenty of light.

“I’d say we go out and try our luck with hunting again.” Allio says.

Bad idea, you’re already shaking your head, “Just so we can come right back here in a few days? The arena is huge, you have to know that at this point. We could walk for miles and still find nothing.”

There’s a glare in his eyes, “It’s better than sitting here.”

“I don’t think so. Everyone out there is going to die one way or another, let them kill themselves.”

“And what about us?” Trink asks.

You give her a look, and shrug, “We can’t stay together forever. But we might as well make the best of it.”

They already knew that, but you wonder if they realize that you’re banking on the hope that you all stay together. Allio is upset again, Trink looks like she’s taking what you said into consideration, and Lennox is indifferent. 

Lennox keeps the fire going. He says that tomorrow will be Trink’s turn to watch over, and then it’s left to you and Allio to fight it out. Then, you’re all laying down to sleep. Except, it doesn’t come easy tonight.

Nine tributes left in the games. Eight that need to die to make sure that you win. Three of them are allies, one of them a friend from back home, two of them you consider friendly, and two nobodies that you could care less about. You’re almost there. All you have to do is not give up.

You’ve kept your strength this far, what’s a little more?

In the morning, you’re up to relieve Lennox so he can go straight to bed. By the time the sun is higher up in the sky, Allio and Trink are up. You all agree that it would be a good idea for you to go out and fish, because one measly rabbit isn’t going to do much for you four.

You take the backpack with you, and leave without waiting for Lennox to wake up. The others will fill him in, and since they’re awake, they’ll be able to watch over the cornucopia. You just hope that Allio isn’t going to fill their heads with the same thoughts you had last night.

The pond is devoid of Blaire, and it’s quiet. You fish, your thoughts being your only company. And they aren’t very pleasant.

You think that if Allio were to die and the others were to find out that it were you, they wouldn’t be angry. Obviously killing either Trink or Lennox would make the other mad, because that’s their friend from back home. It would be interesting to try and pin it on Allio and see how either of them react, but that could easily backfire. All they’d have to do is think that you’re accusing people too often, and suddenly you’re the odd one out.

And getting rid of Allio would do good, because he’s a boy. And if there are only two to three girls left in the game, it would be nice to even out the playing field a little. Give you, Trink and whoever the other person may or may not be, a good fighting chance. 

You’ve done fine against boys so far, but it’s good to have that extra step, anyway.

There’s a crackle of a leaf, which makes you look over. Blaire’s coming through the trees, still looking malnourished, but a lot more energetic today, “Good morning,” he says, and then sits by you without a word.

It would be a lot easier if he knew how to fish for himself. He’s seen where you put the fishing pole, the real thing that he’s missing is the knowledge and a water bottle to reel in the fish. But then again, you don’t want to just hand out information without getting something in return.

“Good morning.”

“Saw the sky last night, right?” he asks, and you nod. The stench of fish coming from the canteen bottle is enough for you to rethink wanting to touch it and use it as bait, “I have a feeling Thyme and Finnick were working together.”

You look over at him, “Yesterday you said you all split.”

“Finnick and Thyme vaguely ran in the same direction. I couldn’t keep up.” he says, “And I haven’t been able to find them since. The arena is huge, (Y/n).”

You nod, “Yeah, we found that out a few days ago.”

Of course Finnick would work with Thyme, it just makes sense. From one companion to another. You wonder if he’s also hurt, or if it was just Thyme that took the damage. They probably brought in the Eight girl somehow, thinking that she’d be an easy kill, but wasn’t. Hurt Thyme pretty badly, Finnick finished Eight off, and then was left to Thyme. 

In that case, she could be a mercy kill. They could have been using that tactic this entire time, which means that a handful of deaths could very well belong to them. 

“Can I use your water-purify droplets?” he asks, you dig through one of the front pockets to bring it out for him. He thanks you, and then goes right to collecting water. As soon as he’s sat back, you’re pulling out a fish and telling him to take it, “Has there been any drama between you guys yet?”

You look at Blaire, again, and study his face. It looks like genuine curiosity, an innocent question.

He explains himself; “I’m just asking, since all the other times with the games and there being this amount of careers left, drama starts.”

Maybe Blaire has a problem with silence, “Minimal drama, I’m going to take care of it.”

Right after the words leave your mouth, you freeze, fingers still trying to unravel the coil of water. That statement could mean a number of things to him, and everyone back at the Capitol. But talk about giving away an undecided plan. Killing Allio won’t be easy, at all.

Everything has to be perfect. You have until the animals appear, you need a night when you’re taking the shift, and you need to somehow make him look guilty and make sure that he won’t be missed. You know that it’ll be easier, one less mouth to feed, and he won’t be offending you guys each time he opens his mouth.

You almost think his death will be premature, and you should wait until the ‘outsider’ tributes are down a little more. That’s when the thinking stops, because it comes into conflict with your original thought. You don’t want there to be an even playing field, and you don’t want a free-for-all at the cornucopia.

Allio has to go, but you don’t have the timing down just yet. 

“Oh,” Blaire says, he probably caught on to the wording, “Right, is it a group thing or…?”

“No.” you say, “I don’t think that the other two will like the idea.” you put some more fish scraps on the end of the hook, and dip it into the water, “But it needs to happen.”

He doesn’t say anything. You fish for another hour before you’re tired, nothing has bitten since Blaire’s fish. He tries to give it up, but you assure him that it’s no big deal, and bid him goodbye, the fishing pole going straight into the bushes. Instead of taking the regular path home, you take a wide arch, hoping that’ll give you more time to find something else to take home.

Lucky for you, a rabbit darts out of the bushes, and the knife lands in the back of its neck. You’re about to say that it’s good enough, until the back of your mind is telling you that you might as well explore. It’s not anywhere near sundown just yet, and if you go back to the cornucopia now, you’ll just sit there with the rest.

And it’s easier to explore alone, you think. There aren't a ton of people trampling over the leaves, breaking sticks and such and leaving an obvious path that you had been there. It looks less daunting, and the other tributes might even consider staying around. One path isn’t a lot. It’s worrying, they might relocate, and they might not.

You use some of the rope to tie the bunny up onto your backpack. It looks funny with how it hangs down, and you’d put it inside of the backpack, wrapped in a sheet of plastic. Except, it’s still bleeding, and it would mess up everything inside. You’d rather the blood get all over the back of your jeans and shoes instead.

If you were standing and facing the mouth of the cornucopia, you’d say that right now, you’re on the right side of it. Roughly where Allio had disappeared off to last night. If you were to go left of the cornucopia, it would just be the coast, nothing good over there. 

Out here, on the right side, should be relatively nothing. Especially with how the others have described it. You’ve never actually come over here, yourself. You always figured that there wouldn’t be anything interesting. They say they can’t hear flowing water, and it’s just trees.

So, you figure it’s going to be the same, and that the trip out here is useless, and you’re really just trying to burn time, not wanting to deal with Allio’s attitude. It’s devoid of animals, which makes you think that the gamemakers are slowly giving in to the supply of wild animals again, which is good news.

They were right about the dense forest part. You’ve seen worse in other arenas, but it’s still surprising. Having this many trees on what you think is an island. It smells green out here, too. Healthy trees and plants. Honestly, if there weren’t a coast, you’d just say that this is a regular forest arena.

Those tend to be the trickiest. Having to fight in them is hard. Hiding behind trees may seem comical, but they work better than you think. At some point, if you’re not careful, the trees begin to look the same and you can wander in circles for hours, thinking that you’re going the right way but you aren’t.

It’s even more embarrassing when you finally realize what you had done for the past hour, knowing that the people back home and the entire Capitol just watched you do it like an idiot. You always used to ask, “How hard can it be?” But being out here has opened your eyes. You always knew that the arena was hard, especially with how little the Capitol gives, but it’s just making you even more aware.

The more you wander this way, the more you’re able to see the tall cliff, which is beginning to look more like a mountain with how it peaks. It’s definitely climbable, you know that. Just by judging the incline, though, it’ll be a tiring walk. And for what? A good view? Right.

At some point, you get tired of walking straight, and go diagonal instead. If you get lost, you’ll just follow the beach around until you spot the cornucopia. Easy enough plan. Plus, getting lost won’t be too bad. Unless, of course, the Capitol decides to throw in their own twist with you.

After what you said at the pond, you have a feeling you’ve got them intrigued enough to not jump to do things with you. The Capitol has likely figured out that you meant Allio, and saying that you’ve got it handled means that you’re working alone. You even confirmed it by telling Blaire that the group wouldn’t approve.

He probably caught on too. He’s smart, older than you too. Just like most of the other tributes are, except for the Twelve tributes and Finnick. You don’t know the ages of everyone, just a basic idea of where they’re at. You know for sure that Allio, Trink and Lennox are older than you. There’s no question about that.

There’s a moment, while you’re walking through the trees, you hold your breath to make sure that you don’t hear anyone following you. And then you hear it, and it’s enough for you to look over with wide eyes, and not even hesitate about going over. It’s running water, loud and crashing.

As you move through the trees, you’re careful to make sure that there isn’t anyone over here. It’s uncharted territory for you. As far as you know, this is where all the tributes could be, all hiding out around the same area. It’s out of the distance of the cornucopia, and it’s away from the path you walk everyday to the pond.

It’s smart. If someone chose to stay out here, it’s smart.

Through the trees, you’re able to see the water, sneaking up onto the dirt enough to make it mud. You don’t dare move past the treeline, and even position yourself behind a tree, looking out to the scene in front of you.

It’s a paradise. Further out, there’s a waterfall, and it looks like there’s a running stream out here after all. Around the bank are flowers, there’s lilies and lily pads alike, floating on top of the crystal blue water. With how the sun hits the water, it looks absolutely clear. Clean, cleaner than the pond water.

You think you even catch a glimpse of a fish tail, before it’s disappeared completely. How did the others miss this? You have a hard time believing that their curiosity didn’t get the better of them. Especially the mornings that the boys went to hunt. You know you’d try and take a big track around to try and get the best of what you can.

It’s beautiful over here. And as much as you want to fish, gather better water and just walk into it altogether, you know that there’s something else here. Whether it be a water mutt, or a person. In the arena, everything is too good to be true. If it’s not dirty and clearly falling apart, then it’s gamemaker engineered and there’s something wrong with it.

Even with this thought, your eyes catch a vague movement behind the waterfall. A dark color, maybe an animal? But then it happens again, and you know better. It’s not an animal, not with how upright the figure is. One more movement, and it’s registered in your mind. There’s only one person that you know that would bet on something so delicate and dangerous. And it’s not Blaire.

It has to be Finnick. There’s a cave behind the waterfall, and he found it. Smart.

You have the sudden urge to call his name and wander out, but catch yourself before you act on it. You don’t know that it’s him, it could be another tribute that figured out how to swim or don’t have an insane fear of the water. And second, you don’t know if you’re still on friendly terms with him. Not after what happened.

Yet another secret to keep to yourself. You’re careful to sneak off without making much noise, a little upset that you’ll be missing out on a perfect fishing opportunity. If you had your spear, you’d be able to take out half a dozen fish before you realize that it’s way too much.

At least you know where Finnick--or another tribute--are now. You could easily blame them for Allio’s death if something goes wrong. And then the thought of the fact that you knew that they were alive, but again didn’t kill them, pops in your head. You can’t blame any old tribute for Allio’s death without being incredibly guilty.

You make it back to the cornucopia just fine, finding that there’s already a fire going again, and Trink is taking her turn roasting it. They’re all startled at your approach, reaching for their weapons. They must be used to you approaching from the side and coming around, instead of just walking out in the open.

“No fish, got a rabbit, though.”

“None at all?” Lennox asks, “We had so many yesterday.”

“I tried for hours, found nothing so I wandered around until I spotted this guy.” You free him from your rope and hand him off to Lennox, “It’s better than nothing.”

Lennox gets to work at ripping the rabbit apart. You go ahead and hand out the water, and then take a seat near the fire to keep warm. You can already feel the temperature change, again, the gamemakers are tampering with the weather. To combat this, Trink slides in another couple of sticks, and it’s just a waiting game.

“Who’s watching tonight?” Lennox asks, and he’s looking between you and Allio, because the two of you haven’t taken an overnight shift in a while.

“I’ll take it tonight, Allio can have tomorrow.” You say.

“I’ll take the next two days, since I haven’t been doing much.” He says, and then begins playing with his sword over the fire.

It’s an hour or so before the first rabbit’s meat is thoroughly cooked. You tell Lennox and Trink to share the first one, and you and Allio will get the second. For a moment, Allio doesn’t look that thrilled that you made a decision for him like that. But then he must realize that means that he might eat more, and the expression falls.

After dinner, you all stay up for a little longer, playing stupid games and trying to burn more time. As always, the Capitol symbol appears in the sky, along with the sound of the anthem. But there were no deaths today, so it fades quickly. Only then do the others call it a night.

You position yourself up against a box, the hilt of the sword in your hand. If you haven’t had any trouble up to this point, then there shouldn’t be any tonight, either. Which means that you get to sit around in the cold, watch as the fire slowly dies out, and try to keep yourself awake.

It’s just silence during the night. The only time there’s actual noise is during the day, when the birds and insects are awake. You can faintly hear the sound of waves on the shore, and you don’t even bother trying to hear the waterfall, because it’s too far off.

If you thought staying in the cornucopia was cold, you can’t imagine what it’s like behind the water. The water is freezing, and if it’s a cave, then that means the stone will be cold too. Unless the tribute inside of there thought ahead and somehow built a blanket of leaves to keep them fairly warm.

And the mist from how hard the water is coming down? It’ll make some things wet if it’s too close. The only real solution to that, is if it’s deep in there. Honestly, you thought caves behind waterfalls was a thing for fairytales. Like those stupid books your mom used to read you before bed, back when you were in elementary school. 

You listen as the sand shifts, when you look over, it’s Trink rolling over. She’s got her back to you now. Within arm’s reach is her canteen and sword, in the case of an emergency. A few feet away lies Lennox, who sleeps on his back. His things are still by the fire, but with far back he is into the cornucopia, he could just use anything off the wall.

As for Allio, he sleeps on the other side of the fire. Compared to you and Trink, he’s by far the closest person to the mouth of the cornucopia. Easy access for anyone to come around and kill, and just run off into the woods. It’s not possible for you to do the same. It’ll be too suspicious over the fact that you were missing. Especially since you were supposed to be guarding everyone.

Tonight isn’t the night, and you’re not too sure that the next two nights are either. But time is running out, and you need to get to him before another random tribute dies. You need a plan, not something half-assed that could easily be seen through.

At this point in the games, you’re not even sure if that’s possible. Everyone has some sort of paranoia running through their heads. And it’s obvious that it’s gotten to you first. It’s for the right reason, you think. To keep an alliance intact. You could always go out and survive on your own, it’s clear that you can. Just take a backpack and don’t show up at the cornucopia again.

But you’re relying on the other's safety. And they’ll probably know where to go, down to the pond or to the shack to get to you and take you out for keeping them waiting like that. Of course, you could always go somewhere else to hide, but you’re not experienced in the woods.

Blaire might be. The only thing that he’s lacking is actual supply. If you were to team up with him, then you’d have a better chance than just going alone. But it poses the same problem that you’re working with at the moment. Eventually, tensions will rise between you and Blaire. And eventually, if you two somehow manage to be the last two alive, you’ll have to kill each other. 

You don’t want to kill Blaire. You’d much rather someone else do it, because you consider him friendly, just like how you consider Mac friendly. It’s obvious why you don’t want to kill Finnick too. So it’s automatically knocking out three of the eight tributes that need to go, to make sure you win.

At the rate you’re all going, you don’t think that Blaire, Finnick or Mac will die by chance. Blaire might not have the same will to live as the rest of you do, but he’s still fighting to stay alive. And a good example of that, is him stealing food, even though it’s dangerous.

Maybe he has a death wish, and he was partly hoping that he’d get caught and immediately killed for it. It would be one way to end his pain, but you’re not entirely sure if that’s the best way to go, leaving your life in someone else’s hands like that. Especially during the Hunger Games, where everything is supposed to be entertaining.

You could beg for a speedy death, but in the end, you’re all just puppets for the Capitol. None of you want to displease them enough to the point where they do something rash. Whether that be another event in the arena that gets you hurt, or something to your family back home.

You too, are a puppet. And it’s exactly why you’re going to make Allio’s death shocking enough to keep the Capitol on the edge of their seats, and better for you.

By the time that dawn breaks, Trink is up. She lets you sleep into the afternoon, and then wakes you up so that you can still make a trip down to the pond for water for all of them. You’re fairly groggy, and spend a good amount of time just making sure that you’re awake enough to do things.

The good news is, there isn’t an immediate need for fish. Lennox and Allio went out to the forest while you were sleeping, and managed to catch a whole pig. The bad news, the animals are reappearing. They’re still scarce, but all that really matters is the fact that they’re there.

You say that tomorrow is your limit.

Blaire is sitting in the shallow end of the pond when you get there. The bandage is gone, but the cut is still on his thigh. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, so you assume that it's feeling better today. Before he can even ask, you toss over the iodine droplets.

“Thanks. For a while I thought that you weren’t going to show up.” He says.

“Took the night shift, I got to sleep in.” You throw the hook in, and resist the urge to yawn. 

Unlike the boys, you’re pretty capable of staying up throughout the night. The only person that really gets a pass is Lennox, because he’s taking the most of them. He probably realized that the other day, and it’s why he’s pawned off the nights onto you guys. Although, to be fair, you’re pretty sure he was taking it until the difference between you and Trink and Allio was settled.

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday,” Blaire starts, but doesn’t continue past that. 

Looking at him, you’re expecting him to pick up once he realizes that he’s got your full attention, you’re wrong, “About what exactly?”

He looks up from his water bottle, tossing the iodine back your way. You catch it easily, and he begins to shake the water, “Taking care of your problem--or the problem, I should say. Don’t you think that could get you killed?”

“Everything in the arena could get me killed.” you say, there’s a tug at the wire, you reel it in, “No matter what I do, I’m always putting myself into trouble. I come down here alone, I continue to feed you, I create plans and keep secrets and try to stay off my allies’ radar. It’s the same for you. Sooner or later, we’re going to get killed or be the ones that kill.”

“Not me.” Blaire says, taking the fish from you, and then watching you pack up your things, “Shouldn’t you keep going?”

“Friends caught a pig. I’m mostly down here to plot, but you’re here.” you look at him, motioning to the fish with one hand while you block the sun with the other, “Take it, it’s yours.”

“I could leave.”

“What you do, is your own free will.” you say.

Blaire sits down right next to you, pulls his shoes off and then places his feet in the water. He starts taking the scales off the fish, you want to warn him about the dangers of the water, how deep it is and you’re not entirely sure what lies in there. But decide you’ll let him figure that out for himself.

“Tell me your plan.”

You can’t stop the laugh that sputters out of you, loud and long. Blaire was expecting this, there’s a small smile on his face, and he waits patiently for you to stop. Even a couple minutes later, you’re still giggling at the idea. Telling Blaire your plan to kill Allio? And for what? You’ll give away everything about the situation.

“Fat chance.”

“You act like I’m going to work against you.” Blaire says, and you’ve still got a funny smile on your face, “(Y/n), I’m in your debt. Plenty of times now.”

“Why? Just because I fed you? As if that’s even a reason.” you roll your eyes, “It’s charity work.”

“You could have killed me by now. Or brought your alliance down and had them do the job.” Blaire says, “Or not shown up and let me starve.”

“You’re caught up in what-if’s, none of those are real reasons.” you say, and the second that the words leave, you want to take them back. Because they are real reasons, you’ve been smuggling this boy for days.

Back home, you know some other poor family would try and repay you. It’s just how it works. You could do something nice like give one of Naida’s boys an old pair of Reed or Mox’s shoes, and she’d be insisting on making dinner for you all for at least two nights. All of it would be on her.

And there was one day, something like that actually happened. It wasn’t for one of her boys, it was actually for the youngest girl, Windy. She’s older now, six or seven, you can’t remember exactly. But it was just after your dad had died, and your brothers and you were in a deep hole.

Reed was illegally fishing, Mox was desperate with his studies, and applying for jobs at the local stores around, but no one was falling through. Naida knew that the four of you were struggling, and scrambling to sell things to stay afloat. A lot of the things that you were selling were old dresses that Alyssum wouldn’t be needing for a long time.

Windy had some important event at preschool, and Naida didn’t want her to look dirty and poor. She was completely missing clothes for Windy, because she’d sold Calandra’s baby clothes a long ass time ago. And even worse, she was scraping by on rent that month, she wouldn’t be able to afford nice clothing.

You found some old dress in the plastic bin beneath your bed. Clearly expensive, and looking almost brand new. You knew that it would go for a lot at the Square. Even the richest families sometimes go down there to get a good deal on things. And if the Square wouldn’t have worked--you doubt it wouldn’t have--you were going to head down to the seamstress.

You didn’t even ask Reed or Mox if it was okay, didn’t even consider the fact that Alyssum would need something like that in a few years. You found an old shoe box in the boys’ closet, and then some ribbon off of a doll from your room. You tied the box up nicely, with some wonky ass bow on the top. And took your ass right over to Naida’s.

The dress was easily a month’s worth of rent, maybe more. But you knocked on the door, Naida answered, and you handed off the dress, saying, “I heard Windy needs something nice for her school thing. Hope you guys have fun.” and left Naida at the house.

Later that day, when your brother’s were coming back from what they did during the day, Naida stopped them on the porch. In no time, she was crying, and absolutely crazed because she thought you’d spent a ton of money on a dress that you couldn’t even afford. But Reed recognized the dress, reassuring her that it would be a hand-me-down. Even then, Naida didn’t want to accept it.

They didn’t give her a choice either. Said basically the same thing that you did. When they came into the house, they found you doing your math homework at the dining room table. You’ve seen Reed proud many, many times, but the look on his face is one you’ll remember forever. You did a good job.

Naida’s way of paying you all back, was the free babysitting for all of you. Taking Alyssum in during the day while you and Mox went to school, allowing Reed more hours for the illegal fishing. And even after he became a legal adult, she continued on with it. She definitely knows that she’s paid it over so many times by now, but chooses to do it still.

Anyway, Blaire might be thinking the same thing. But instead of a dress, it’s his life. Something that is so temporary in the Hunger Games, and even dangerous. You’re risking your life by saving his. You’re putting trust into him not killing you by continuing to do this.

And the one way he wants to pay you back is by listening and giving advice. You don’t know if Blaire has grown up in the poor part of District Three, or if you’re just overthinking all of this. But it’s what makes the most sense to you. You said it yourself yesterday too, that Blaire is not only older, but smarter. He’s got at least two to three years on you.

“There’s nine tributes left in the arena.” you begin, making him look over, “And I’m worried that as soon as it hits eight, my alliance will break up, and I want to keep it together for as long as possible. It’s nice having people watch over my back, knowing that they’ll protect me. And they’re not all that bad, either.

“Allio, the boy from Two, has been causing trouble between all of us, except for Lennox, the boy from One. Of course, last week you took our entire sponsor gift, and I honestly thought it was Allio, and so did Trink and Lennox.” you stare at Blaire, “They still think that it’s him, as far as I know.

“I would get rid of Lennox or Trink, except they’re friends, they’ve known each other for a while. If one goes, the other’s sure to go crazy, so I figured that Allio would be my best bet, anyway. The only problem I’m having is how to get it done. It has to be tonight or tomorrow, because I don’t want someone to die before we get there. And I don’t want the animals to reappear in the trees.”

Blaire nods, thinking this over. He’s quiet for a long time, staring down at his fish. You think he’s just as stumped as you are, and then he speaks, “You can’t ask the others to help you kill him?”

“They think I’ve only killed one person, and I’m not trying to come off as aggressive. I only blew some of it when I told Allio that I hated him, just like Trink seemed to. So, I bet I’ll already be suspected.”

“Could always say that it was some random tribute.”

“That’s what I was thinking, except there isn’t anyone around the cornucopia.” you say, ignoring the waterfall tribute. They’re not as important, they're too far away. Once again, if it’s Finnick, you don’t want to give him away to the others. You wouldn’t be killing him with your own hands, but you’d lead them right to him. It’s good enough.

“You guys explored around the area?”

“More or less.”

Blaire hums, “You said something about the night shift, who’s taking the next one?”

You look over, “Allio said he’d take the next two nights.”

“Oh, then that’s easy. If he falls asleep during the night, just get him then.” Blaire says, “And then find some outlet, like sleeping or whatever.”

You hold your breath, trying to picture it. In this case, doing it tonight would be suspicious, since you’d finally get him alone for once--or ‘alone’. The others will still be there, just unconscious. You could kill him while he’s asleep, and then quickly lay back down. As for the blood knife, there’s a box that you could probably slip it under.

There’s only one problem, the one that’s nearly impossible to get around.

“What about the cannon?”

Blaire huffs out a laugh, “Guess you’ll just have to move quickly and make sure you aren’t breathing heavily. Turn your back to them or something. You can’t over sell it either, so pretending to sleep through the cannon might be cheesy. Or, it might be realistic, I don’t know.”

Allio sleeps on the other side of the cornucopia, opposite to you, closest to the mouth. Unfortunately, another obstacle is going to be the lit fire, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t control the weather, the gamemakers can. And it’s going to be impossible to get them to just make it warm tomorrow night. Unless they come to the conclusion by themselves.

You stare into the water, almost losing yourself in your thoughts, when you see it. A dark motion, bigger than any fish, “Get out of the water, now.” 

You push yourself to your feet, throwing the backpack away. When Blaire doesn’t move fast enough, you grab the back of his hood with both hands, pulling him out of the water and a couple inches away. He’s got it now, coughing because of how hard you were on the hood.

The black mass is towards the top now, just beneath the surface. You watch the bubbles appear, and pop. One of them lands on Blaire’s bare foot, and he hisses, backing up some more. You watch as his skin turns a shade of pink first, and then deeper to red.

You wonder if the water was hot, or if it’s poison. 

Does it really matter?

You grab the water bottle that’s hanging out of Blaire’s back pocket, uncapping it, and then dumping it out, still staring at the water. No matter how much iodine you put into this, it’s not going to be clean. And it doesn’t matter that he grabbed it from the shallow end, either. Whatever is in the water can contaminated it.

“Here.” you say, placing it in his hand, and then moving on to your bag.

You pull each canteen out and dump them out, watching as the water runs downhill and back into the pond.

“Do you think that the fish is bad?” he asks.

You look over, he’s holding it out for you to see. You don’t spot anything abnormal with it, but you didn’t see anything wrong with the water initially, either, or the pond.

“Toss it in.” you shove everything back into the backpack, and attach the fishing pole to your backpack, “I know another place.”

Blaire follows what you said, tossing it into the water, and pulling on his socks and shoes after. You lead him around in a wide arch, exaggerating the path you took the other day. He doesn’t question you at all.

This walk is much faster than the first one, but the moment you hear the waterfall, you get a bit hesitant. You still lead Blaire through the trees, heading right towards the crystal blue water, but watching to make sure there’s no one there just yet. You’d like to give them a chance to leave.

There is no one, and there is no movement on the other side of the waterfall. Once Blaire sees what you’ve led him to, he gasps slightly, “Wow.”

“Yeah, I know. We shouldn’t be here for too long.” you glance behind you, there’s no one. If Blaire can sneak around you guys quietly, it’s no question that others might be able to do the same, “You watch out for anyone.”

“You don’t like it over here.” he says, it’s not a question.

“We’re invading someone’s space.” is all you say, “Fill up the canteens, I’ll get you something to eat.”

Blaire sits down, unfastens your fishing pole, and offers it to you. You shake your head, pulling off your shoes, and then your socks, and you roll up your jeans as far as they’ll go. After that, you pull your sword into your hand, and carefully wade into the water, watching for anything unnatural.

That was definitely a mutt in the pond, as always, gamemaker generated. It’s a wonder if it appeared because they made the creature come out, or because the fish that you caught made them appear. Either way, you couldn’t see it coming. You knew that the water was deep, but you didn’t know what else would be in it.

There’s a great chance that the gamemakers made the mutt appear to push you away and make you think of another place to go. Whether that be deeper in the forest, or over here. You need to work quickly, get Blaire his fish and tell him to go back to where his camp is, wherever that may be.

Your eyes travel back to the waterfall, still no movement. The tenant might be out, another reason why the gamemakers pushed you this way, to purposely cause conflict. If it’s Finnick, though, you think he won’t attack. And if he does, he’ll just leave Blaire out of it, since Blaire’s supposed to be his ally, anyway.

You feel something brush by your foot, and it’s enough for you to jump out of your skin. It’s a fish, curious and bold of what’s joined it in the water. You’re still, and stare at it, waiting for it to come back around. And when it does, you slam the sword into it, staining the blood a temporary pink.

“You should go back to your camp.” you tell Blaire, moving out of the water now, “Don’t stay over here. I’ll meet you back at the pond tomorrow, and we can take the walk around back over here.”

“Sure.” Blaire says, taking the fish off the end of your sword, “Thank you, again.”

Blaire must think that he’ll never stop being in your debt, and you’re afraid of that, too. The list keeps getting longer and longer. Eventually, he’s going to try and find something to pay you back with.

“I cleaned the water.” he says, “It’s all nice in there.”

“Thanks.” you dry your feet on your jacket, pulling on your socks and shoes before you unroll your pants. You sling the backpack over your shoulder, drying the blade on your jeans.

Blaire’s ready to go, too. He assures you that he’ll know the way back, and the two of you split. The entire walk to the cornucopia, you feel awful. Almost afraid that someone is following you back. You check several times, and of course, there’s no one there.

The second you’re out of the trees, the feeling subsides.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Wobbly Interview: Going for Happy

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Thurston Moore Ensemble/Negativland band member Jon Leidecker has been releasing electronic music under the moniker Wobbly for over two decades now. In Chicago experimental label Hausu Mountain, he seems to have found kindred spirits, matching his far out idiosyncrasies. 2019′s Monitress and its follow-up, Popular Monitress, which came out earlier this month, are albums about and by machines, as Leidecker ran his music into pitch trackers and synth apps on his phones and tablets, embracing the errors and randomness that were produced along the way. While the source material on Monitress was mostly improvised, the songs on Popular Monitress are more structured and composed, resulting in songs like “Authenticated Krell”, which follows a comparatively clean synth arpeggio before being enveloped by texture, or “Lent Foot”, where the various instruments trail each other. It’s remarkable just how familiar certain sounds are even if not traditionally instrumental ones, like the typewriter clacks of “Illiac Ergodos 7!” or the zooming notes of the thumping title track. Blurring the lines between what’s instrument and what’s not, and even further, what’s composed music and what’s not, Popular Monitress is a defining statement for both Leidecker and Hausu.

I was able to ask Leidecker about various songs on the album and their inspirations. Read his answers below!

Since I Left You: You chose to write more structured songs this time around before running them through the pitch tracker. Do those nuggets of recognizable structures make the final product all the more disorienting?

Jon Leidecker: Hopefully! On both albums, the main thing is keeping the focus on just how live those pitch trackers are. It’s Monitress as long as you can hear how they’re listening. For years, it was strictly a piece for live performance--I needed to be improvising myself, and able to respond instantly, to really underline just how spontaneous the machine responses are. So the first record tried to keep more of that sense of flow. Large stretches of it are simply baked down from stereo recordings of concerts & radio performances of it. Overdubbing more layers of trackers seemed legal, as long all the voices were following that one original sound.

Of course, when you play a tune, something composed or even quantized, it definitely becomes easier to hear what they’re doing. The exact same code running on each phone will respond in very different ways to the same source audio, and you get a chorus of individual voices. They play a lot of wrong notes, but oddly, if you feed the trackers lots of consonant, major chords, it stops being dissonance, and you can tell they’re going for happy. You hear these weird things, trying to sing in unison, and..the result is just pure delight. Weirdly emotional! What’s a mistake? What’s music?

SILY: How did you come up with the song titles? For instance, is there anything particularly Appalachian about "Appalachian Gendy"?

JL: They’re mostly mashed up references to landmark works in the field of generative & algorithmic composition, from the 50’s up to the early 90’s. The recent push of stories on AI musical tools seems to be about automation and labor-saving, but the field of how to develop tools for more creative ends goes back all the way to Bebe and Louis Barron going to the Macy Conferences on Cybernetics and designing their first self-oscillating feedback circuit.

So while my tracks aren’t really in the musical style of the works they reference--something like  “Appalachian Gendy”, which sprung up a fantasy Spiegel/Xenakis tribute, got paired to that stompdown track, and once it did, I added a solo on iGendyn.

SILY: To what extent is your music here inspired by the inner workings of the brain?

JL: Once you get a grip on just how simply neurons and synapses interact, how reassuringly physical thinking is, the electronic music I’ve always found most inspiring often involve feedback systems, self-playing devices, generative music, things that learn rather than settle. Music that helps you model thought. The whole East Coast/West Coast 60’s divide in synth design boiled down to Moog reducing your options until you could easily dial in what you already know you want, and Buchla designing uncertainty machines to be networked together until they approach the complexity of an unknown brain.

SILY: "Synaptic Padberg" and "Every Piano" have moments of recognizable instruments as opposed to alien instruments (strings and piano, respectively). Was that just a product of the errors/randomness of the music-making, or purposeful?

JL: It's supposed to sound orchestral, so I hit my Mellotron and Chamberlin apps pretty hard with this piece. Not like anything remains plausibly real once they're getting hammered by the trackers. That is a real grand piano, however: me playing the tune at SnowGhost Music in Montana. Brett Allen deserves an engineering credit, but I also wanted the first listen to make you wonder.

SILY: There's almost a funky rhythm to "Motown Electronium". Do you envision folks dancing to this record?

JL: Would have been plain wrong to put that title on an unworthy beat. What would a room full of people dancing to this even be like? Maybe in Baltimore.

SILY: Do you think "Training Lullaby" is what a computer trying to write a lullaby would sound like?

JL: Not that relaxing, is it? That’s ten seconds pulled from a five minute live improvisation, just a little burst of fury in the middle. Which I’ve heard enough now that I can sing along to it; so now, for me, it is calming.

I finally had to admit to myself that I’m a fan of the OpenAI Jukebox stuff. It’s right at that stage where their results are still primitive enough to remain a little mysterious. All the context and relationships intrinsic to what humans call music is irrelevant to those GANs. They don’t need culture to make music, they just need waveforms. What does it tell us that simple pattern analysis and brute number crunching on a large enough data set can produce those sounds? They’re training us. I have twelve hours of their Soundcloud dump ripped to my phone, and I play it a lot, though I wouldn’t play it for anyone under four. Can definitely sing along to some of the weirder ones by now.

SILY: How did you approach the order of tracks on the record? I'm struck by, for instance, the chaos of "Grossi Polyphony" following the comparative lull of "Every Piano".

JL: Just trying to show the range, and keep the surprises coming. Perpetual variety becomes monotony so quickly, so there is a very careful balancing act to play between shorter and longer tracks. I like a record where on first listen, any new section that begins, you feel like there are no guarantees how long it’ll last, eight seconds or eight minutes. Even things that sound like they should be songs: no guarantees. I still remember the first time I heard The Faust Tapes as a teenager.

SILY: Did you actually use musical dice to write "Wurfelspiel"?

JL: “Wurfelspiel” is just name-dropping Mozart’s generative piece--again, a real piano, but no musical dice involved.

SILY: The beats towards the end of the album--the pseudo hip-hop of "Cope By Design", techno of "Dusthorn Sawpipe", krautrock of "Help Desk"--seem to me to be far more propulsive than anything else here. Do you see a connection between those tracks?

JL: The album hits you with all these miniatures in the middle to keep things moving, and those three are the last little barrage of them before the shift into the final stretch with the longer, more hypnotic pieces. Can be tough to sequence an album when you’ve got so many short tracks, but it’s also total freedom.

SILY: How did you like getting the Hausu Mountain album art treatment?

JL: Totally family. All the Monitress packaging has always been iPhone panorama mode artifacts, visual glitches not entirely unlike what my phone’s trackers do to what they hear. I gave one of those images to [Hausu Mountain co-founder Max Allison] to work with the cover of the first Monitress, and he sent back this image, saying, “Here’s the initial stage: Your photo reduced to color blocks I’ll carefully render out later.” So when the second hyper-detailed one came back in a more proper Hausu style, they already seemed like a sequence, and this second one was already in place, so it all clicked. Any version of Monitress, the music is different, but it’s always the same piece. I’m really happy they asked me for something. [Label co-founder Doug Kaplan] and Max are just coming from the good place.

SILY: Are you doing any live streams or socially distant shows any time soon?

JL: Multi-location live streams are a blast. The time modulation inherent in all streaming is deeply psychedelic. The kind of listening you have to do when you know that the relationship of sounds together in time is different for each musician involved? I’m learning utterly new tricks, and it’s astonishing just how live the result is. I sat in on a live stream with Thurston Moore Group a few months ago, the four of them in London, and me hooked up to an amp not far from where I normally am when I play with them. And everyone agreed: It felt like I was there, right up until the instant I quit the app.

I’ve been pre-recording some home live sets for Hausu, Curious Music and High Zero Foundation. Negativland is putting together an hour long performance with Sue-C for the Ann Arbor Film Festival in late March. I finished an album mostly recorded outdoors with my old friend Cheryl E. Leonard for Gilgongo, and we’re going to try to a few outdoor concerts, too.

SILY: What else are you currently working on/what's next?

JL: The second album with Sagan, with Blevin Blectum & J Lesser, is coming out in late April. That one took 14 years to finish. There’s a trio record with Thomas Dimuzio and Anla Courtis coming out on Oscarson. Doing a revision of the last episode of my podcast on sampling music, Variations, to incorporate that OpenAI music. Some Negativland releases tying together the last two albums. There are about four of five other albums that might be done, though it takes time to be sure.

SILY: Anything you've been listening to, reading, or watching lately?

JL: This month has been Maryanne Amacher’s collected writings, Keeping Together in Time by William H. McNeill, Ministry For The Future by Kim Stanley Robinson, important even with happy ending. Interview with Karl Friston - Of Woodlice And Men.  Listening to a lot of “Blue” Gene Tyranny, Xenakis & Lang Elliott, and last week every Ghédalia Tazartès album in reverse chronological order. I don’t care what anybody says: That guy’s immortal.

SILY: Anything I didn't ask about you want to say?

JL: Thank you for your questions!

Popular Monitress by Wobbly

[randomvarious]

Moby - “Bodyrock” Crossing All Over! Volume 10 1999 Big Beat

You all know who Moby is. He’s one of the most successful, talented, and eclectic electronic music producers of his generation. He’s the American who made big beat and sample-laden dance tracks achieve popularity in the US at the turn of the century. He’s an electronic music chameleon; he’s techno, he’s downtempo, he’s big beat, he’s ambient, and he’s even punk and alternative rock. He’s had a long, storied career, with plenty of hits and questionable decisions that have resulted in some really high highs and equally really low lows. 

By the time Moby released his fifth album, Play, which ended up becoming considered by many critics to be one of the greatest albums ever recorded in the history of music, he thought it was his final album. Just four years prior, he had released the critically acclaimed Everything Is Wrong, which Spin named its album of the year. He ended up selling a respectable 250,000 copies of the record worldwide, but for the amount of praise it received, and for being on a major label (Elektra), it was a mediocre showing. From jump, that appeared to be Moby’s curse, as it was for most electronic talents: good music, but bad sales; a niche market conquered, but little else beyond that.

Whatever likability Moby had accrued since the UK success of his 1991 techno track, “Go,” which sampled music from Twin Peaks, nearly disintegrated into thin air with the release of his fourth album, 1996′s Animal Rights, which saw him ditching dance music for a blend of alternative rock, hardcore punk, and ambient music. Fans and critics both hated this turn and washed their hands of him almost entirely. It appeared that everyone was just about done with Moby, and that Moby was just about done with himself. Animal Rights turned out to be an album that brought him within an inch of career suicide.

But by 1999, he had decided to go back to dance and electronic music and the result was Play. However, no one seemed to want to give Play any play at all. Moby shopped it to a number of big record labels, but at that point he was regarded as a has-been; a guy who’d run out of good fortune because of his uncompromising strong will and his insufferable need to be an artist. But Richard Branson’s V2 label, which was only three years old at the time, decided to take a chance on it.

From a quote in Rolling Stone:

First show that I did on the tour for Play was in the basement of the Virgin Megastore in Union Square. Literally playing music while people were waiting in line buying CDs. Maybe forty people came.

Most of the critics adored Play and saw it as a work of contemporary creative genius; a real mover-of-the-sticks kind of album. No one, at least no American, had ever made an album quite like it before. It was uptempo, it was downtempo, it had blues samples, it had breakbeats, it was more than danceable, and it was also quite emotional and vulnerable. It was an amalgamation of a lot of different things, and it was a beautiful representative mess of the post-modern, recently-formed digital age, which, at the time, appeared to be bringing the world closer together than it had ever been before, at least from a cultural standpoint. It was music that had a little something for just about everyone. But that was what initially appeared to have ben its fatal flaw, too. See, Play didn’t fit into any pre-defined, carefully crafted, easily marketable categories; It wasn’t rock, it wasn’t pop, it wasn’t hip hop, and it wasn’t R&B. So radio and MTV passed on every song. The album certainly had no home in America, and it didn’t sell all that well in the UK either. 

So Moby decided to sell the album out, literally. He licensed every single song off of Play for commercials, TV, movies, and video games, which were all industries that were more receptive to the varied sounds of the album. People would be exposed to Play through other indirect and less conventional means. And with every track licensed and songs appearing in nearly every medium that had audio, except for radio and MTV, Play, almost a year after its release, started to finally gain some commercial traction.

Here’s an illuminating Moby quote from that same Rolling Stone article:

Almost a year after it came out in 2000 I was opening up for Bush on an MTV Campus Invasion Tour. It was degrading for the most part. Their audience had less than no interest in me. February in 2000, I was in Minnesota, I was depressed and my manager called me to tell me that Play was number one in the UK, and had beat out Santana's Supernatural. I was like, :But the record came out 10 months ago.” That's when I knew, all of a sudden, that things were different. Then it was number one in France, in Australia, in Germany—it just kept piling on. [...] The week Play was released, it sold, worldwide around 6,000 copies. Eleven months after Play was released, it was selling 150,000 copies a week. I was on tour constantly, drunk pretty much the entire time and it was just a blur. And then all of a sudden movie stars started coming to my concerts and I started getting invited to fancy parties and suddenly the journalists who wouldn't return my publicist's calls were talking about doing cover stories. It was a really odd phenomenon.

Play only peaked at #38 on the Billboard 200, but it sold two million copies in the States alone. It was on charts across the world for several fucking years. And it finally brought dance music to the American mainstream.

There were two songs that almost didn’t make it onto Play though: “Porcelain,” which Moby hated, and “Bodyrock,” which Moby’s two managers hated. His managers complained that “Bodyrock” was a total ripoff of Fatboy Slim, which...fair..., and that it was tacky. But Moby wanted to keep it on there. He had sampled a classic hip hop song by Spoonie Gee and the Treacherous Three for it called “Love Rap,” which held sentimental value for him, and is the only vocal sample on the song (”Non-stop y’all, to the beat y’all, the body rock y’all...”). 

At the top of this post, I called Moby an electronic music chameleon, and “Bodyrock” is the song that saw him almost seamlessly morphing into a god of the big beat sound, somehow briefly placing himself among the ranks of The Prodigy, The Chemical Brothers, and of course, the aforementioned Fatboy Slim. And he managed to do it with just one fucking song. For “Bodyrock,” Moby basically took all the things that got those three big beat acts constantly lumped into the same category, as well as all the things that made them stand apart from each other, and then he mortared-and-pestled it all to death, reducing it all into a fine powder that he could re-arrange and re-apply into his own stunning creation.

“Bodyrock” is a song that’s layered wonderfully and fuses sounds from many different instruments and genres to make something that’s intense as hell, especially for a mainstream audience, but still highly enjoyable. It’s a perfect fusion of rock, hip hop, and dance music, all packaged together into one, solidly cranking song. 

Moby starts with the drum-and-vocal sample from Spoonie Gee and The Treacherous Three and then adds two layers of guitars, one with an acidified, throttling, crunchy funkiness, a la Fatboy Slim, that’s inspired by Gang of Four’s 1981 track, “What We All Want,” and one with a thin and whining kind of wah that’s also a bit funky, and which later on becomes an integral part of the chorus. Then Moby infuses the track with some hardness, with heavy drums and bass, as well as hand-claps. Rapper Nikki D, who released an album on Def Jam in 1991, then proceeds to appear out of nowhere for the chorus, pretty clearly trying to sound like MC Lyte’s nearly-forgotten 1996 jam, “Cold Rock a Party”. And along with Ms. D comes the most important piece of the recipe, the bow and ribbon that ties the whole song together, the streaming and high-pitched cinematic strings, which replace the Gang of Four-styled guitar, and are underlaid with a rumbling, motoring, thick bassline that also plays along to the string melody itself. 

Two unique and brief pieces then come later on, one that sounds like a combination of clean and dirty aquatics, with a brief, pleasant keyboard melody that sounds submerged in water, but still near the surface, and a swampy and swishy, mud-in-your-galoshes type of rhythm beneath it. Then, before the song’s final push, the other brief piece appears, which sounds like those frequencies you might hear from a hearing test machine, laced with Nikki D’s vocals, the drum break from Spoonie Gee and The Treacherous Three, and some bounding bass.

To close out the masterpiece, Moby lets the chorus ride, and then adds the “Love Rap” vocal back in. You’d think playing two vocals concurrently would clash and make the song unlistenable at that point, but somehow, they don’t. They happen to work really well, and when played together along with everything else, they yield the most intense and enjoyable part of the song.  

Play ended up having a total of twelve music videos and a quarter of them were for “Bodyrock”. The first two have a similar theme of British guys, all of whom except for one are white, dancing terribly, but also passionately:

The second one features a car explosion at the end!:

And the third one, which has a Run-D.M.C. cameo (!), shows Moby donning special sunglasses that allow him to see talented dancers everywhere:

Even almost a year after Play was released, it appeared that it was going to be Moby’s swan song and the death of his career. But the decision to license changed all of that, and if ever there was some kind of universal music award for “comeback artist of the year,” Moby would have absolutely won that thing. But in the immortal words of LL Cool J, “don’t call it a comeback,” because while the original best hope for Play was to return to the similar sales and critical appeal of Everything Is Wrong, it managed to far exceed that wishful and shortsighted forecast. Moby was comeback artist of the year and damn near MVP also. It was a wild, totally unexpected, and fantastic turn of events for his career and wellbeing. He almost stopped making music, but now he can’t stop making music. He released an album just this year.

I wholeheartedly agree with the critics who list Play as one of the greatest albums ever made. Not only is it fucking tremendous on its own, but It marked a much-needed turning point for Moby’s career, which undoubtedly kept him going, and still keeps him going today. And one of the many amazing songs on that album that makes Play what it is, is that consummate, brief bit of big beat greatness, that banger of a cut that almost didn’t make it onto the album, the one and only “Bodyrock”; a song that still manages to bop as hard as it did when it originally came out 20-plus years ago.

[krystalficloverdh]

My hero - New life and a friend from the past

I’ve always had this idea about what would happened if Izuku was a woman then one thing lead to another then in this quarantine…so now she reincarnated in the medieval era where she was supposed to be a villainess followiing AFO. 

In summary, ex villainess + sassy deku + reincarnated deku + pinning kacchan So enjoy! 

First chapter.

.

.

.

She never thought that she would end up like this, dead and it’s because of that bus that appeared in front of her. She was walking down the street on her way back from returning a book borrowed from the library.

Just a few hours ago, she was a normal teenager that was studying for final exams.

Books gave her freedom from those boring mathematical problems and sleepless nights of studying. You could go everywhere, be it a romance story or a fantasy one, with knights in shining armor, dragons and princess.

“I know, cliche but a girl can dream..my head hurts, everything hurts like fucking hell.” She mutters.

The feeling stopped.

She is in some kind of a dark corridor that has no end. She rubs her eyes to at least improve her eyesight and perceives a wooden door at the other side.The girl is getting closer and closer. Someone is calling her name but at the same time it doesn’t belong to that girl, very familiar. When she is about to touch the door a middle-aged woman opens the door. She’s a short lady with green hair and a gentle look on her eyes, she likes her already.

“Izuku, breakfast is about to get ready!” She closes the door.

Huh…

She turns on both sides and a recognizes that is a bedroom. Just a single-bed, a wardrobe, a desk with some books, a small dresser that faces the bed along with a huge mirror on the wall. This is not her body, she used to have a simpler appearance, brown hair, dark eyes and an average face. Now she possesses very wild green curled hair and big eyes of the same color along with cute freckles on her cheeks.

That’s when it clicked, that’s why it was so familiar to her, recently she read a book named ‘My hero’ that was dated in the medieval ages but with a little detail, there is magic and it doesn’t matter what type everyone has it but some people have more than others.

The story unfolds around five characters, a knight who possesses amazing speed, a prince who dominates ice and fire, a magician who dominates gravity with the things her hand touches and dragon prince who causes explosions from his hands along with his dragon. They take the path to stop the greatest enemy that dominates the darkness, they called him master, well no one knows what exactly his power was and for that they have to find the greatest hero of all time, All Might. These two had a battle many years ago that left them both badly wounded and both disappeared. This is where this girl enters, Izuku Midoriya, one of her followers who carried evil everywhere on behalf of the master while he sees from the shadows waiting for All Might to disappear from the map and return.

“A little coward if you ask me,” She mutters “the events of me being a villain should not happen yet because I remember that Izuku became evil because of the death of her mother at her village, for not having the ability to protect her and without a father or other familiar in her life she was left alone.” She was running away from a thief and killed him with her powers to protect herself, people marked her for a murder. Someone from the past came back, not a good person… Hisashi Midoriya.

Her father disappeared many years ago, it turned out that he sided with master and returned to take Izuku to the villain league. She learned how to kill, she was very good at summoning powerful creatures and could levitate things with her mind. Sadly she dies by the hands of the master cause she hesitated to kill All might in the last battle, I guess she was not that evil. That was basically the first book with All might defeating the bad big guy with the last bit of magic left in him.

“So, I just have to practice my magic, levitate things...Fuck yes how cool is that?!” She always wanted to have powers and save people who needed help just like the movies with a smile on her face. In her previous life, when she was twelve years old, her family was caught in a fire in our home while she had to go to the store that was nearby. When she returned, the house was almost about to collapse and the firemen did not let her in to save them.

This time it won't be the same if she can do something about it.

Her name is Izuku Midoriya and her new life just began.

Getting out of the bedroom she quickly finds the dining area, breakfast already set, Inko Midoriya, she is her mother, she's the lady from earlier that is humming to a song, she doesn’t know what came over her, she hugged her.

“Why the sudden hug my lovely daughter? not that I’m complaining...did you had any sort of a nightmare?”

“You could say that...I just... I love you mom!” She smiles, she means it.

“Me too, my darling!” She smiled so kindly and squeezed back.

“Let’s eat or the food will turn cold.”

“Indeed...Oh I almost forgot, what would you like for your sixteenth birthday?” She asked so spectantly with big eyes. Hearing no answer she puts her hand on her chin thinking and then clasps her hands together making a loud sound as she smiles. “Right...when you were younger you told me that you wanted to become a hero, you can enroll at the UA guild”

Of course, in this world people have powers, because of that they created guils to train their powers, do jobs and become heroes. Anyone can enter and there is a famous guild nearby called UA so it’s a perfect opportunity to become stronger but…

“What happens if I go there?...I won’t be able to save her.” her worries came out.

Let’s stay out of the plot events.

“I did?”

“Yeah, you used to play with that kid from the dragon tribe...kacchan it think it was his nickname.”

“Uuuh d-dragon tribe?” Izuku asked with a crooked smile and alarmed trying to recall that name somewhere but nothing came.

“His name is Katsuki Bakugou, the crown prince from de dragon tribe here from the Badlands.”

That’s when a few images appeared in Izuku’s mind from a boy and a girl playing in the forest, blurry ones. Then she felt a strange fluttering feeling in her chest.

They knew each other? That was not part of the book.

“I just recall a few things” Izuku bites her bottom lips nervously and looks away.

“Well you were pretty young, like six years old and you haven't seen each other for 10 years.”

“That’s long... I don't think he will recognize me after all these years.”

“He will”

“How confident”

Her mother points Izuku’s neck, more like the thing around her neck. It’s a simple necklace with a little pendant of the same color of her eyes.

“He gave you that necklace, it’s a traditional ornament from his tribe and curiously it’s the color of your eyes.”

“Uh...waaah I’m sooo full so I’ll do the d-dishes!”

The woman just laughs at her daughter’s embarrassment.

Izuku runs to the kitchen trying to hide her red face having a particular thought over and over again.

What are the odds to see him again?

Izuku started to train her magic in the forest, six months ago she could levitate little things like little rocks but nothing more. Now she’s able to move heavy objects or even herself at the same time, she’s a fast learner.

Some attacks have occurred near her village, they have been looking for someone with the same features, blonde hair and a height of about 6 feet or more.

They’re looking for All Might.

In one of her trips through the woods she discovered a small waterfall about five meters high piled high with rocks that climb high into the forest and mountains of the badlands.

Maybe she shouldn't go any farther because according to the book she remembered how close dragons live in the Badlands, which means the dragon prince Bakugou Katsuki could be close.

That's not a good sign.

The book says that he was a very explosive man, she found it funny how it goes pretty well with his powers. He has blonde hair almost going to ash, with crimson red eyes and an almost barbaric way of dressing.

“I mean he is shirtless all the time...not good for my eyes and my maiden heart.” She muttered under her breath.

She touches the water near a big rock and from the looks of it the water is not very deep so it is perfect for swimming.

There are no bathing suits here and definitely she won’t get into the water in mere underwear so in a simple pants and a t-shirt will do. Then out of nowhere a emerald little lizard with wings steps over the rock in front of her making her jump backwards.

“What the fuck?! that’s a freaking dragon!” The creature only observes Izuku with its dilated eyes, his pupils are only a thin line and moves his head from side to side looking for something in her eyes. After a few seconds, apparently, he finds it since his eyes returned to their natural state and approaches her. He just purrs at her and starts to rub its head against her legs.

“What a cute baby dragon...I guess we are friends now!” She scratches his back.

A loud explosion from above echoes.

“Oi! where are you, you little lizard!” the dragon hides behind her like playing hide and seek.

That’s a male voice, she cringed “Wait a damn minute...I’m not your hiding spot!” She whispered tensing up while getting up, alert.

A big shadow lingers above her head, more like in the sky and she looks up. It’s a big red dragon with a person on its back, She can’t distinguish who might be that man and she hears another explosion. The man jumps, he lands on the ground with a strong boom leaving a leaving a hole from his landing and she opens her eyes wide, waiting any way to escape.

Again, not a good sign.

“What do I do?! Oh fuck he might think that I stole him” her thoughts screamed in her head.

Neither of them take their eyes off each other. As he approached Izuku, every muscle and every fiber of his body appeared to strain to force out his next movement ready for any possible fight.

“He has the most beautiful crimson eyes…” her thoughts betrayed her.

Katsuki held up his hands, his palms crackling. She immediately started to feel the presence of things around her in case she needed to fight but she preferred not to so she held her arms in sing of surrender.

“Where's Kaia ..? depending on what you say ... you’ll live.” he growls.

The cracks from his palms stopped.

Curious, Izuku roams his face with her eyes to notice that he is looking at the necklace gaping with with mouth.

“...Deku?” the blond man asks with a deep voice.

When she was about to open her mouth the little bastard started to roam all over her body like some monkey, now she really looks life she stole him.

Run.

And boy she ran.

While running Izuku turns to look back and all she sees it’s a demon.

Scary.

“Oi stop it! Fuck!”

“Be gone you demon!” She yells and then she hears a loud explosion.

He caught her.

They rolled to the ground and falling together down the hill. Izuka found herself on her back, Katsuki above her, with his hands holding down her wrists. Both of them gasping, taking in deep drags of air, drags that smelled of ash, nitroglycerin, mint, a smell of earth and skin. Their chests raising and falling. Izuku could feel the power in his thighs against her holding her in place. Katsuki was gritting his teeth, as if he were in a battle. A moment that felt like hours, Katsuki and Izuku stared at each other trying to memorize their features afraid as if any movement would cause someone to disappear from their field of vision. Katsuki decided to break the silence and smirks.

“I know it’s you shitty Deku…I would recognize that necklace anywhere.”

“...K-kacchan?”

“You’ve changed.”

“Well it’s been 10 years, of course I’ve changed ... you’ve changed too.” Izuku replies nervous and looks to the side.”Um...I didn’t steal him.”

“Hah?!”

Izuku gathers courage to look up into his eyes and answers almost breathlessly.”The baby dragon.”

The moment she mentions her little friend, somehow the dragon finds its way between the two of them breaking the spell. Katsuki grumbles and stands up looking at the dragon in Izuku’s lap.

“Just for the record, Kaia is a female.”

Izuku looks at the dragon confused and pouts. “He's a she?!”. Katsuki chuckles and approaches her.

“It’s your first time seeing one isn’t?” He reaches out his hand to Izuka and she takes his hand gladly standing in front of him.

“Huh...yeah… I mean I’ve never been in your tribe.” She scratches her cheek with her index finger nervously and Katsuki tenses up. “How come she’s here and not...in your tribe.”

“Lately they’ve been robbing the young ones in order to dominate them better and use them to search for …”

“All Might...he came back.”

“There has been circulating rumors that he has returned saving towns, but he disappears the moment he finishes the job.” Katsuki glanced back up the hill from where they fell. “Let’s go back.”

Izuka started to climb back but katsuki stopped her grabbing her hand and held her against his chest.

“Put your arms around my neck.”

Izuku hesitantly hugs his neck looking up.

“...Kacchan no.”

“Kacchan yes.” He said imitating her with a squeaky voice and kicks the ground with a loud boom.

“Noooooo!” She cried out with being suspended in the air and notices that Kaia is flying at her side following them towards the red dragon. There was a small crack and then landed on the dragon. They sat with Izuku in front of katsuki, he grabs the pointy spikes on the dragon's head and she could feel a strong arm surrounding her waist.

“Wow wow wow wow wow Where are going?! This is not my way back home.”

“To the Dragon Tribe...ppf obviously.” He snorts as a matter of fact.

“What?!”

After 15 minutes they landed on a very lively town, full with a lot of dragon with different colors and sizes. A very excited Izuku livitates herself off the dragon leaving a very amused Katsuki with his extended hand towards a empty spot. It brings to him a smirk to his lips but it fades just as quickly as it appears.

“Is this the famous Izuku of the forest?” The voice is a deep rumble, emerging from somewhere low in the dragon's throat, he shifts into a man with red hair and eyes. “Names Eijiro Kirishima.” He said while pointing himself with his thumb.

Amazing. That’s all she can think.

“Um Izuku Midoriya...a pleasure.”

“Fuck off shitty hair!” Katsuki snaps.

“Hey I’m a man for only one woman.” Kirishima from the corner of his eye spots a woman with pink skin walking by. “Ashido wait up!... nice meeting you Midoriya.” He said and runs towards the woman.

Katsuki just grunts a reply and faces Izuku.

”Didn’t knew you could levitate yourself.”

Izuku turns on her heels to look around and glances sideways smirking towards katsuki to say. “There’s a lot of thing you don’t know about me…I can’t for long distances though,been practicing in the forest on that.”

The moment the start walking they hear a lot of screams in the distance.

They're under attack.

Next chapter.

[everamazingfe]

You Can Ride On My Rocket 69 - Chapter Twelve

A Song About Strength

Fic Summary: Jeremy has recently awoken in this strange world, 210 ten years after he was put to sleep, and is now the lone survivor from his vault. Trevor's a radio host from Diamond City who's barely left the station, lonely in his own right and isolated from the rest of the Wastes. When they meet, Trevor finally gets a chance to see the rest of the wasteland like he's always wanted, though Jeremy becomes more of his bodyguard than Trevor does his companion. They meet various people along the way, some being friends like the odd throuple they meet in one of the neighboring city, or foe like a certain Diamond City guard. Both are wary about bringing up their pasts, but the wasteland has a strange way of bringing people together.

Chapter Summary: Jeremy faces a setback in the search for his husband, but Trevor finds some courage. This chapter's song is "Mighty Mighty Man" by Roy Brown. 

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Words in this chapter: Pairings: Jeremy/Trevor, Michael/Gavin/Lindsay, Jeremy/Matt Warnings for this chapter: Threats of violence, blood, gun violence, gore. The end of this chapter gets a little violent/graphic.

Notes: There’s a link to the first chapter of this fic as the source of this post! Click it to go read this fic over on A O 3, or you can search up the title or ‘everamazingfe’ on the site! 

Also, I won't be posting a new chapter on the 1st/2nd of April because I've been getting very bogged down by schoolwork, and I just don't have the energy for everything I want to do. The next chapter will be posted on the 15th/16th of April. See you then!

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When Trevor woke up the next morning, there was a moment of confusion before he realized where he was, and who he was next to. He was much warmer than he was used to being, but it wasn’t the unpleasant and sweaty warmth that came after a nightmare. It was comfortable and made him feel safe. Until he cracked an eye open, he had no idea that the source of it was Jeremy. They had their arms wrapped around each other loosely and their legs tangled together, the other man’s head tucked beneath his chin as he snored softly. The sight made him smile, though the sound kicked off a headache. He squeezed his eyes shut with a soft groan, holding Jeremy tighter. Maybe if he just ignored the pain, he’d be able to go back to sleep. The sun was only just starting to rise, Diamond City wasn’t far, and Geoff probably wasn’t going to be expecting them for a while. He had time.

Besides, Jeremy was still sound asleep. As far as he knew, it was the first restful sleep either of them had gotten in months. He wasn’t about to do anything to disturb that. So he settled in again with ease, pulling the blankets up over their heads to block out the beams of sunlight shining through the cracks in the plywood.

The Rexford was still quiet in the early hours of the morning, the only residents bothering to be awake at this hour were some of the ghouls getting ready for early morning patrol shifts. They had enough common courtesy to keep quiet, though. As quiet as they could manage in a centuries old building that creaked with each minute movement, at least. The wood was half rotten and the glass had been knocked out of the windows by the bomb and by the weather, that was the case with every building in town, but the residents of Good Neighbor had worked hard to try and keep everything sturdy and functional. It was a good place to be. Some might even say it was more welcoming than Diamond City, particularly a certain radio host. 

In addition to the neighborhood watch, another small group of people were awake in those early hours. But they hadn’t even gone to sleep yet, to be fair. 

“I hope everything went well at the Den, Trevor seemed a little… I don’t know. Worked up when he came by?” Gavin asked, both Michael and Lindsay nodding in agreement as they lay together on the bed, tangled together and sprawled over each other in various ways. “Picked up a lot of beers for someone who doesn’t usually drink.”

“Maybe they were for Jeremy?” Lindsay pitched, lifting their head from Michael’s chest to look over at the other. 

The bartender shrugged, sighing softly. “Hopefully not. Even for someone who does drink on the reg, that was a lot.”

“Would you both please… Shut up? They probably split them,” Michael muttered, running his fingers through Lindsay’s hair to get them to relax and lay back down. “We can ask tomorrow, right now some of us are trying to sleep.” He still tried to maintain some semblance of a sleep schedule, without one he got rather cranky, but his two partners loved to work against him on that front. Despite the two of them being regular humans, a lack of sleep didn’t seem to affect them. 

Lindsay giggled, planting a kiss to his cheek before pulling their boyfriends close. “He’s right. We should. Bar’s gonna be busy tonight.” That wasn’t anything unusual, it was busy every night, but reminding Gavin that they had actual work to do usually did the trick with settling him down. Otherwise, he’d be throwing around hypothetical questions all morning long without anyone getting a wink of sleep. Michael had learned how to tune them out years ago, but Lindsay didn’t quite have that luck yet. 

As the trio managed to go to sleep, a few floors away it was Jeremy’s turn to wake up. Instead of confusion greeting him, there was a moment of excitement as he thought he was waking up in his husband’s arms. The shitty old beds of the hotel felt exactly like the bunks they’d had to sleep in when they were deployed, the two of them squeezing onto a twin-sized mattress with springs that dug into their sides and creaked with every movement. There was even a fleeting thought, a hint of a memory that came to the surface in the moment of semi-consciousness before he was fully awake. 

“Matt?” He asked, voice low and gravelly as he lifted his head only to see that the man who he was wrapped up in wasn’t his husband. It was Trevor. That realization was only somewhat disappointing. Still, he let out a sigh and laid his head back down on the pillows, pulling back from the other a little bit. If Trevor woke up, he didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. He didn’t know that the other had already woken up and was more than okay with their sleeping arrangement. 

Jeremy stayed there for a while, alternating between looking at Trevor and the hints of sunlight peeking through the old wood that covered the windows. The dust danced around in the beams and made him dizzy. After a few minutes of that he sat up, gently reaching a hand out to touch Trevor’s shoulder and gently shake him awake. “Trev, wake up,” he murmured, smiling fondly as the other whined and stirred. “C’mon, got a busy day ahead of us. Can’t spend it all in bed.” Oh how he wished they could, though. 

Trevor put up with the shaking for a few moments before he got fed up, knowing that Jeremy wasn’t going to be relenting and that there was no chance he was going to be able to sleep for even a few more minutes. “Okay! I’m up.” He swatted at the other’s hand, rolling onto his back and trying to adjust to the headache and the brightness of the room all over again. It was a lot more difficult the second time around. He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to wipe away the headache. “Does this happen every time you drink?” He asked him, peeking up at him through his fingers. 

He chuckled softly, shrugging a shoulder. “Kinda? You learn to ignore it after a while. Med-X usually helps some too, if I’m honest.” He had a bit of a headache, but nothing too bad though. “Water too, but… That’s in short supply these days.”

“When we get back to the city, we can stock up at Shen’s. But in the meantime, I’ll take that Med-X.”

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Diamond City was the same as it always was: the market was bustling and full of people, guards patrolled the streets or hung out at their posts, and the mayor looked out at it all from his office. Trevor noticed one very important thing once they were inside the city limits, though. Even with all the guards and people around, he just didn’t feel safe there, and it didn’t feel like home. Inside the Home Plate was a little different. The mayor couldn’t glare holes into the back of his head there and Ian, if he was even still alive, couldn’t get to him either. Out in the open he felt way too exposed. 

Jeremy didn’t exactly feel safe there anymore either, constantly on high alert and keeping an ear out for the first sign of trouble. He was less concerned about his own safety, and more about Trevor’s. 

With how busy the city was during the middle of the day, Jeremy was extra conscious of making sure Trevor didn’t end up lost in the crowd. He hadn’t even given it a second thought when he’d grabbed the other’s hand, guiding him through the crowd and keeping him close, not noticing what he’d done until they’d reached the detective agency. 

“Hey there, boys!” Geoff greeted, clapping his hands together and grinning as the two walked through the door. He glanced at their joined hands and shared a look with Ellie, his grin turning to a knowing smirk before he steeled himself and cleared his throat. “You ready to go check out Kellogg’s place?” 

Jeremy quickly took his hand out of Trevor’s, clearing his throat as well and wiping it on his pants. “Uh, yeah. Ready.” He knew that it wasn’t really anything to be embarrassed over, but that didn’t stop a light flush from rising to his cheeks. “I remembered something else, too… In case it’s helpful,” he added, and Geoff’s eyebrows rose as he waited for Jeremy to continue. “His name was-... Is Matt. My husband. His name is Matt.” 

Geoff grinned at that, pulling out his notebook. “That is very helpful, Jeremy. It confirms that Kellogg’s our guy. That’s what he said his friend was named when he passed through, right Ellie?”

She nodded, typing something up on her typewriter and nodding. “That’s right, Matt Bragg. And he certainly matches the description you gave.” 

“Then we’re on the right track. Let’s get going.”

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As far as Jeremy was concerned, Kellogg’s house was a bust. First, it had been locked up tight and virtually impossible to break into. The lock on the door was more complicated than any one he’d encountered in the wastes before. The only reason they’d gotten in was because of Trevor, and he didn’t want to know where he’d gotten that skill from. Then, anything useful was hidden behind a secret room that had been a real pain to get into, and there turned out to be nothing useful there at all. Some half burned cigars and empty beer bottles, but nothing that would actually tell them where he’d gone. 

“San Francisco Sunlights… Kind of a rare brand around these days, they’re pre-war, but…” Geoff trailed off, picking up the cigar box and turning it over in his hands a few times. 

“But?” Trevor asked, arching an eyebrow and looking towards Jeremy. The man was leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, eyes on the floor. His frustration was palpable and intense, and Trevor just felt bad for him. 

 “But unless you’ve got a sniffer dog, there’s not much more I can do for you.” Geoff sighed, passing Jeremy the box. “I’m sorry, Jeremy.” 

He took the box, staring at it wordlessly. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he let out a huff as he shoved it away with the rest of his junk. “So that’s it?” He asked, lifting his gaze to meet Geoff’s eyes. “This is the end of the line? After all of that, after what I’ve been through, we’re just… Done?”

“There’s nothing else to be done, kid. You could ask one of the guards if they’d be willing to spare one of their dogs,” Geoff said, pausing and glancing at Trevor for a split second before his eyes were back on Jeremy’s. “But I don’t know if anyone would be willing.” 

Jeremy balled up his fists at his side, closing his eyes and breathing hard. “Great. Just… Just great. Thanks for your help, Geoff. I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.” 

“Happy to help,” he assured, waving the comment off before turning to leave. He paused next to Trevor, leaning in and whispering, “Don’t let him do anything stupid,” before walking out of the door.

It took Jeremy a few minutes to compose himself, but that didn’t happen before he punched the wall. “It’s not fair!” He shouted, oblivious to the way Trevor had backed away as the drywall dust clouded his vision. “We’ve been through so much! You put up with so much of my shit, we walked so far, and… And for what?” Shaking out his hand, he let out a frustrated huff. The outburst had helped, all of his anger fizzling away all at once into something heavier and harder to deal with. “Let’s just go home. Figure out what to do. Maybe find a dog.”

Trevor nodded, hesitating before stepping forward and offering Jeremy his hand. “Diamond City has a lot of strays,” he told him, giving his hand a squeeze when the other took it. He hated those sudden fits of anger, those moments where Jeremy lost his temper, but he didn’t know how to help other than being there for him. That was starting to get harder, though. “But going home sounds nice.”

They walked out of Kellogg’s house together, walking quickly away from the stands and back towards the market. The crowds had started to clear out, but there weren’t any less guards around. Diamond City took safety seriously, for some of its citizens at least. The rest were left to fend for themselves.

As Jeremy dug through his pockets for the key to the Home Plate, Trevor scanned the market. They’d have to stock up on supplies before they set up again, but who knew when that would be. Without being on the hunt for Jeremy’s husband, they didn’t have much reason to go out. As Trevor looked over the people, he locked eyes with someone through Takahashi’s stand. “Uh, Jeremy? Can you maybe… Find your keys a little bit faster?”

“I’m working on it, Trev, just… Give me a sec, I’ve got a lot of shit in my pockets.”

Trevor swallowed hard, not looking away from the man who was staring right back at him. He couldn’t. “Jeremy,” he said through gritted teeth, nudging him roughly with his elbow to get his attention. 

“Trevor, what?” He snapped, whirling around to cut him a glare. But Trevor wasn’t looking at him. He followed the other’s gaze with a deep frown, letting out an, “oh fuck,” when he saw what had attracted his attention. “Shit. Okay, hang on.” He turned back to the door, pulling out his keys right as the man began to take steps towards them. 

“‘Ey, Trevor! Jer’my!” 

Jeremy rushed to unlock the door once he had his keys in hand, shoving Trevor inside. “You get anywhere within ten feet of his door, and I’ll blow your head off right where you stand!” He shouted, pulling out his pistol and aiming it at him for added effect. 

“I just wan’ t’ talk!”

“Fuck you, Ian. You don’t deserve to even look at him, let alone talk to him,” he spat before slamming the door, locking it and shoving some furniture in front of it for good measure. “God, I wish I could set up turrets in here.”

Trevor was already sitting on his bed, pulling off his armor to tuck it away in the trunk at the foot of it. “You told me he was dead,” he stated simply, looking up at Jeremy before he got back to untying his boots. “Why did you lie?”

“I didn’t lie, I just… Didn’t know. I thought he was dead! I had hoped he was dead,” he confessed, sitting down on his own bed to start doing the same. He was quiet for a few moments, biting his lip in thought before he spoke again. “Do you want him to be?” He asked in a murmur. 

Trevor paused, frowning. “I really can’t talk about this right now, Jeremy.” 

“Right, right. Sorry. But the offer’s still there.” Maybe he should have some reservations about killing someone, but his time in the army had desensitized him to that, even two hundred years after the fact. Plus, in his eyes, it was worth it. It was only fair after what he’d done to Trevor.

“Maybe another time... You got anymore of those yao guai steaks? I’m starving.”

Jeremy chuckled and nodded, shucking off the last of his gear and throwing it into his trunk. “Yeah, lemme cook them up so you don’t get rad poisoning again.”

“It was one time! And you’re the one who didn’t tell me that it was pre-war food!” Trevor wrinkled his nose and grimaced. “That was the worst thing I’d ever eaten, though. I should’ve stopped after the first bite, but I was just so hungry.”

“Don’t worry, that’s not gonna happen again.”

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In the morning as he sat on the edge of his bed, halfway through putting his boots on, Jeremy realized that priorities had shifted. Finding his husband was still very important to him, that hadn’t changed, but keeping Trevor safe had bumped that down to second place. Trevor was his first priority now. It felt like the shift had happened overnight because of how sudden the realization was, though in reality it had slowly been happening over the course of their time together. The latest setback had just been the catalyst. 

“Do you have any plans for that loft up there?” Trevor asked, nodding towards the staircase from his own bed. When he’d been laid up from his head injury, Jeremy had worked on furnishing the place and making repairs, but the second floor loft had remained empty. Right then it served as a stopping point on the way up to the third level’s bathroom, but it felt weird empty like that. 

The question pulled Jeremy out of his thoughts, and he hummed softly. “No, not really. Maybe just storage? I dunno.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Why?”

“I wanna move some of my radio equipment here. That space is bigger than my trailer, probably. It’d be perfect. But I don’t wanna impose.” 

Jeremy shook his head quickly, putting a hand up to stop him. “Trevor, I got this place for us. You can do whatever the hell you want with it, alright? It’s just as much your place as it is mine. I’ll even help you move the stuff.”

“Really?” Trevor asked, his face lighting up. “Thanks, Jer.”

“Of course, Trev. Anything for you.”

He knew that was just a thing that people say when the favor wasn’t a big inconvenience to them, but for some reason Trevor felt like Jeremy genuinely meant it when he said that. It made him smile despite the butterflies in his stomach. 

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“Oh, this one’s a good one too! As soon as this song’s done, we have to listen to this one,” Trevor said, pulling a disc out of the filing cabinet and waving it around for Jeremy to see before setting it down on top of it. “Actually, fuck it, I’m putting it on now.”

Moving the equipment from the trailer to the Home Plate hadn’t really taken much time, but packing the discs away into boxes to bring them over too was taking forever. Each time he found a CD that had a track on it that he liked, Trevor had to stop and explain to him exactly why he liked it and all of the nuances of each lyric. As endearing as it was, Jeremy had really been hoping to get this done before sundown. 

“Trev-” He’d started to speak, about to ask him to speed things up a little, but a knock on the door interrupted him. Both he and Trevor frowned, looking at each other in confusion, though the latter was frozen in place. He set down the box on the bed, shutting off the music and opening the door a little. “Oh, fuck no. No. Get the fuck out of here,” Jeremy spat, slamming the door shut, but a heavy boot jammed between it and the frame stopped it short. 

Ian met his eyes with a wicked grin, and at the foot of the steps stood Mayor McDonough. The sight of Ian alone had made his blood boil, but realizing that the mayor was there with him had it running cold instead. 

“Now now, Jeremy. We just want to talk,” the mayor said, his gaze going right through the man to look at Trevor who was peering out from behind him. “I thought I told you that Diamond City didn’t like troublemakers. But it seems like you’ve been causing more incidents than I originally thought.” 

Ian shoved the door, making Jeremy stagger back. He used that opportunity to get the door open, letting himself and McDonough into the already cramped trailer. There had barely been enough room for himself and Trevor in there, but the space felt even smaller now. It made Jeremy’s breathing pick up, his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Do you remember what I told you when you first showed up in my office, Mr. Dooley? I told you that you’d be escorted out of the city if you caused any more trouble. And what did you do? You went and hurt my favorite guard.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “Such a serious crime cannot go unpunished, Mr. Dooley. And Trevor, I thought you knew better than to make any waves.”

“It’s not his fault,” Jeremy said, balling up his fists as he began to calm down enough to speak. The walls were still closing in around him, but he couldn’t afford to stay silent. Trevor couldn’t, either. He really wished that he’d thought to bring a gun. “Look, McDonough, whatever you’re gonna do, don’t loop him into this.”

“But he’s the whole cause of it. You both are a pox on this city, and if you don’t decide to leave it quietly, I’ll be forced to put my foot down and have you forcibly removed.” 

“Aw, c’mon Mayor. I think tha’ we should let Trevor stay,” Ian laughed, and the mayor seemed to be considering it. 

Neither of the men were looking at Trevor, they were hardly even thinking about him, he was just a way to taunt and torture Jeremy. But behind them, he could see the radio host moving towards his desk, and he had to work hard to bite back a grin. Though he’d been convinced that Jeremy wasn’t a synth, he knew that keeping a gun around for extra protection was still a smart idea. And what neither Ian nor the mayor knew was that Trevor had become a hell of a shot during his time in the wastelands. 

“Nuh uh. Where I go, he goes. Either we both stay, or we both go. And since we’re so much trouble, I think we’ll both be going,” he stated, turning around to pick up the box and start packing away Trevor’s CDs again. It almost seemed like they were going to let him continue, but he huffed when he felt cold metal against his temple. 

“Those are Diamond Ci’y property, mate. I suggest you put the box down and go, ‘fore we have t’ do anything rash. And take your pet radroach with you.” 

A gunshot rang out then, the foam on the walls muffling the sound to the world outside, but not doing nearly enough to stop it from making everyone’s ears inside ring. McDonough shouted out in surprise and covered his ears, and Jeremy dropped the box to do the same. As he looked down to see where it landed, his eyes widened in surprise. Although he knew that this was going to happen, he still wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

Ian was nothing more than a crumpled heap on the floor, his face completely unrecognizable now. Jeremy could look through it and see the cracked tile beneath his head, and if he had any weaker of a stomach he probably would have thrown up. Already he was pretty close. Blood and brains were splattered along the wall and cabinets, some of it getting onto Jeremy’s clothing, but the majority of it had landed on the mayor, staining his tan suit red.  

“I am not a radroach,” Trevor spat, the barrel of his pistol still smoking as he aimed it towards the mayor. “And we aren’t leaving Diamond City.” 

McDonough began to beg, but Trevor no longer had his focus on him. Instead, he looked past him to Jeremy, who only gave a small nod of approval and stepped out of the way so he wouldn’t get splattered again. Another shot rang out, and the mayor joined Ian on the floor, the pair of them a mess of blood and limp limbs. 

Jeremy stepped over the bodies, gently pulling the gun from Trevor’s hands and setting it down on the desk. “Are you okay?” The other man nodded slowly, though he began to tremble. “Go home. I’ll get the rest of your stuff. Do you have the key?” Trevor nodded again, digging it out of his pocket and passing it to Jeremy. 

“We’re so fucked,” he whispered, laughing and running a hand through his hair. “Jeremy, what the fuck did I do?”

“You protected yourself.” He’d done what Jeremy himself had been too much of a coward to do, he was righting a very long series of wrongs. “I’ll take care of this, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Trevor wasn’t so sure he agreed. Although at the same time, he didn’t feel like he’d done anything wrong. In fact, he was kind of happy about it. But the fear of getting caught and ending up like the pair on the floor was more overwhelming than anything else he was feeling, so he just nodded dumbly and walked carefully out of the trailer, trying hard not to step in any of the blood that was now pooling in the cracks of the tile. 

Once the door was shut again, Jeremy pocketed the keys and hit play on the CD player, letting Roy Brown play in the background as he packed up the rest of the discs. The cabinets themselves would just have to wait there, he needed to get back to Trevor as soon as possible. 

[hutchhitched]

The Vintage Joshifer Series: End of Love—Chapter 21 (Final Chapter)

End of Love by hutchhitched

Finally, y’all! A million years ago during Catching Fire promo, I stumbled into a friendship with some amazing Joshifer fans. Despite not being a full-blown shipper, I was absolutely thrilled to see an interest in writing historical AU fanfiction. For a long while, I knew what I wanted to write, but I couldn’t get the words to come. By the time I started posting, it seemed most of the Joshifer fandom had (understandably) moved on, but I still wanted to write this story and complete the commitment. After numerous delays and more stutters and stops than I can count, my contribution to @thevintagejoshiferseries​ is complete.

Big thanks to @burlesonspride​ for the banner and encouragement to join in on the fun. I know we don’t talk much anymore and you’ve moved on to other ventures, but I still adore you. There are a lot of others who deserve thanks, too, but you know who you are.

I chose the 1960s because the decade of rebellion speaks to me in so many ways. With recent events, I hope it does with some of you, too. There are so many people still struggling for political, economic, and human rights. The fight’s not over. Keep going.

Historical events in this chapter include the following:

The concert at Altamont in December 1969 became the symbol of excess and the end of a peaceful counterculture. If Woodstock was the ideal, Altamont demonstrated excess and danger and a drug culture that was out of control. There’s a lot of information on the event itself, but here are some great articles from Rolling Stone, the History Channel, Forbes, and The New Yorker.

Berkeley, California, December 1969

 “Oh my GAWWWWWWWWWD!!!!!” Brenda squealed as Jen emerged from the airport and streaked toward her college roommate. “It’s been so long. You look so good!”

 “You look so good, too!” Jen cried as she enveloped the other girl. “It’s so good to see you. I missed you so much, honey.”

 “You don’t miss me. I’m nobody. Unlike my former roommate who’s the toast of the networks. I’m so proud of you, Jennifer!”

 “Well, my professional life is great anyway,” Jen offered wryly and swallowed against the anger and pain that always lingered just below the surface since Josh’s disappearance over a year ago. “I’m happy about that.”

 “You really haven’t heard from him at all? No phone call? Not even another letter explaining anything?”

 Jen chuckled as she imagined Josh sitting down to write to her. The last time she’d seen him, he hadn’t been very interested in the written word. She couldn’t imagine that had changed much in the past twelve months, no matter how badly she wanted to hold onto the image of her former whatever-he’d-been as the guy she’d met in college and fallen in love with despite her best intentions. And now look where that had gotten her.

 “Nothing. Besides, I don’t live in Chicago anymore, remember? New York City’s a better fit, and my coverage of Stonewall made my career. He knows how to find me if he wants to hear from me again.”

 “But Jen—”

 “I looked for him, you know,” she admitted. “When I was in the Village and the protestors were marching in the streets. I saw Andre, Josh’s college roommate. He’s been part of the gay underground for years, and I thought maybe he might be there. Still an activist. Still fighting for change. To make the world better, but he wasn’t. None of his friends have heard from him since Nixon was elected, and I’m damn sure not going to call his family. They don’t know me, and I’m not going to beg him to be part of my life anymore. I’ve sacrificed enough for him.”

 Jen’s pronouncement hung in the air, and Brenda had enough grace to pretend she believed her. The silence stretched between the two women until Brenda shook her head and suggested they make their way to the cab line and head to their hotel. After all, they had a limited amount of time to get reacquainted before the alumni event they were supposed to attend.

 Jen blinked away tears as they drove through town and by campus. Memories assailed her at every corner, and she suddenly felt very old for someone who’d only graduated from college a few years prior. She wanted to kick herself for running out on Josh the night they’d first slept together, and she regretted not working through their problems when they lived together in Chicago. It had just been so easy to run or to seduce him instead. Sex had always been good between the two of them, and she liked it. She’d felt empowered when he lost himself in her or when he’d turned to her body for comfort. The problem was that he’d stopped looking to her and started hiding, too. When they’d both ignored their problems, they’d lost each other.

 A year later hadn’t dulled the ache of his absence. She’d been grieving since the election, but Josh had been for far longer. If she was fortunate—no, lucky—enough to find him again, she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice or however many times it was now. It would have to be pure luck to run into him again after all the ways fate had brought them together in the past, and she’d never been one to find four-leaf clovers. Unfortunately, last November seemed to be the end of their love story, no matter how much she wanted it to be another way.

 “You know there’s a big Stones concert tomorrow not far from here. Some of my friends are going.” Jen jumped when Brenda’s words broke through her reverie.

 “Really? I love them.”

 “I know,” her old roommate said with a grin. “Want to go?”

 “Absolutely! Wait, is this at Altamont? Woodstock West?”

 “I knew you’d know what I was talking about. Sometimes it’s hard to remember you’re in the news business and have your ear to the ground more than us mere mortals.”

 “Please,” Jen scoffed, but the wheels in her brain started turning. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a quick phone call.”

 With that she made a beeline for the payphones on the far side of the hotel lobby. If she could pull a few strings, she could tie this to her job and make her friend really happy. What use was working herself to death and making her way up the ladder, slapping away the roving hands, working ten times harder than her male colleagues only to get a third as far—what use was any of that if she couldn’t sometimes cash in her success for press passes at a major counterculture event? None, that’s what, so she was damn well going to call her affiliate and let them know where she was.

 After she completed her call, she made her way back to Brenda and they retired to their room to get ready for the alumni event. Jen made it through with as much grace and class as she could while attempting to stymie the rush of emotions that hit her every time she turned her head. She drank a little too much and laughed louder than she would have if she’d been acting completely like herself, but she survived. More than anything, she held onto the promise of seeing her favorite band in concert the next day. If she managed to score the press passes, even better.

 “We need to make a stop on the way to the speedway. Can you be ready to go in 30?” Jen asked when they woke the next morning.

 “What’s going on?”

 “I need to stop by the local NBC affiliate to pick up some papers. My boss is being a real stickler about my time off while I’m out here. Something about an assignment. I want to make sure we have plenty of time to get to Altamont before the big names go onstage.”

 “Why?”

 “Well, it was supposed to be a surprise, but… Because I got us press passes. We’ll be able to get anywhere with them—including backstage.”

 Brenda squealed and hugged her friend, which made Jen smile. It felt good that her hard work could help make someone else feel so good.

 “Altamont, here we come!”

 ****

 “This is a gas!” Brenda yelled into Jen’s ear. “These passes are the best.”

 Smiling, Jennifer nodded and then pointed to the crowd indicating she was headed into the fray for a little bit. Brenda indicated her approval, and Jen headed off by herself for a few minutes. There were so many people at the racetrack. The music was loud, and she needed a break. Besides, she wanted to check out the crowd in case she could use the information she gathered for a news story later. After all, she was a journalist, a damn good one, at that, and her career came first. Now that her love life was dead, something had to.

 Experiencing Altamont made her regret not taking her boss up on his suggestion she cover Woodstock. She’d considered it for a second, but she’d been exhausted from coverage of the Stonewall riots and then traveled home for a family function. At the time, she hadn’t wanted to take off on another assignment when there was plenty of news to cover in the city itself. If she had, though, she’d be able to compare the two music festivals.

 The crowd at Altamont seemed perfectly content, albeit jittery. The lower the sun dropped in the sky, the more unrest she felt. She stepped around a shirtless, bearded man on the edge of the mosh pit in front of the stage and froze. There, not even ten feet from her, was Josh Hutcherson, alive and in the flesh. The man who’d haunted her dreams and had made her weep far too often over the past year was there, cheering and whooping as the Rolling Stones shifted into another song.

 People surged around her. Frozen in place, she couldn’t drop her gaze from his face. Josh’s face. She’d imagined reuniting with him a million times, but now that the opportunity existed, she had no idea what to do or how to act or what to say. Stunned and breathless, she tried to smile, but she was positive her face held more of a grimace than anything else. And then he turned slightly, and she could tell the exact moment when he saw her. His handsome face went slack in shock, and he took a tentative, hobbled step toward her.

 It took a minute for her to realize something had shifted. Someone pushed while another shoved back, and the concertgoers pressed closer together. Squeezed between two large men, she fought for space and scrambled frantically to keep Josh in her sights.

 All hell erupted around her as men in black leather infiltrated the crowd. She saw a person fall and then another. Panicked fans stepped over the bodies on the ground, and she had to fight to stay upright at people swarmed around her. She struggled against the tightening noose, but she was losing ground.

 “Jennifer!”

 Suddenly, he was in front of her, pulling and tugging her free from the throng. He grabbed her hand and bulled his way toward the perimeter where it seemed there wasn’t quite so much danger.

 “What are you doing here?” he shouted over the noise. “I thought you were in New York?”

 She gaped at him. “How did you know that? Why are you here? Where have you been? And why the fuck did you leave me in Chicago, you shitless bastard?”

 Josh opened and closed his mouth a few times before his face broke into a wide grin. “God, I missed you,” he laughed and cupped her face in his hands. Before she could shake him off, he leaned forward and kissed her.

 Stunned, she stiffened under the onslaught, but she gradually melted into him. She’d forgotten how good he was at this, how his lips and tongue and teeth combined to weaken her knees and shatter her resolve. Then, she was kissing him back, passionate and frantic as he held her to him. She was seconds from tearing his shirt over his head when someone slammed into them. Hard.

 He broke away and glanced around them to assess the situation. “We need to get out of here,” he shouted and grabbed her hand to pull her along.

 “Wait! Brenda’s here. She’s backstage. I can’t leave her.”

 “Jen! I want you safe.”

 She shook her head and twisted to look at the stage. Everything was in chaos, but she glimpsed her roommate briefly. She waved and ducked away under the arm of one of the workers who’d been flocking around them when they’d first arrived. If the wide grin on her face was any indication, Brenda would be absolutely fine.

 “Let’s go!” she yelled but allowed him to pull her behind him through the rioting crowd and into a clear area near the parking lot.

 “Are you okay?” he asked, his hands running over her shoulders and arms and then back up to her face. “Are you hurt?”

 “I’m fine. I’m okay. Josh…”

 His lips were on hers again, warm and comforting and more than a little urgent. She wanted to lose herself in him, find comfort in a way she hadn’t been able to for so long. More than anything, she craved his skin against hers. More than she wanted to know why he’d gone or where he’d been or what his future plans were. She just needed him in a way she couldn’t explain. She only knew that she felt like she’d come home when she was with him. After all this time, he was still the person that made her feel more herself than anyone else.

 It felt like seconds and decades at the same time, but finally, their frantic make out session ended and they could look at each other more fully. She had a million questions, but the most important was the one she managed to blurt as he studied her with his hazel gaze.

 “Do you love me?”

 He raised his hand to her left cheek and traced her cheekbone with his thumb. His eyes flickered over her, and his lips curved into a smirk. “Of course, I love you,” he laughed. “I always have. I’ve been an idiot—worse, I’ve been a complete ass—but I’ve been in love with you for a decade.”

 “I live in New York. I’m not moving.”

 “I’ve already got my plane ticket back there. I was just staying with Connor through the holidays.”

 “I don’t trust you.”

 “I don’t blame you. I haven’t been very trustworthy, and I’m sorry.”

 She glared at him, but she couldn’t find her anger. His presence was a balm she hadn’t even known she’d needed. When he’d left, she’d thought it was the end of their love, but maybe tonight was really the beginning. If the last decade had taught her nothing else, everything was a gamble. Maybe she had another big one left in her.

 “Hey, Hutch.”

 “Yeah?” It felt like the world around them was holding its breath.

 “Take me home.”

 When he reached for her hand, she took it.

 ****

 The drive to his brother’s apartment seemed to take forever and not nearly long enough. She wasn’t nervous, exactly, but it had been over a year since he’d left. How would it feel to be with him again after all this time and so much pain between them?

 “Connor’s out with friends tonight. Spending the night with his boyfriend,” Josh announced as they pulled into a parking spot.

 “Okay,” she replied and sucked in a breath to hold. At least they wouldn’t have an audience for their reunion.

 “We don’t have to do anything,” he said, and she raised her eyes to his. Vulnerability poured from him, and she suddenly wanted to soothe him. She had the ability to provide him comfort, and that’s what she wanted more than anything else in that moment.

 “I want to do everything,” she answered firmly.

 He led her up the stairs to his brother’s apartment and unlocked the door. When they were inside, he tossed his keys on the table and turned to her. She went to him, and he pulled her close. His arms wrapped around her back to nestle her against his chest. Slowly, he lifted her chin and pressed his lips against hers.

 It was a chaste kiss, but it lit a fire inside her. She deepened the kiss by tilting her head and opening her mouth. Her tongue begged for attention, and he slid his against hers. His muffled grunt was matched by her lusty moan, and the thin veil of control they clung to snapped.

 “Jennifer,” he sighed. Their hands grappled with their clothing as it fell piece by piece. Frantic, she hopped onto the kitchen table and tucked him between her legs. He rubbed her quickly, just a tiny bit of prep, and then he was inside her, thrusting with his head thrown back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on as he rammed into her. The table creaked under them, and she gripped him inside her tighter and tighter as he plunged erratically into her depths.

 “Fuck!” he shouted to the ceiling when his body tensed. He sank into her, and she felt a wet heat pulsing inside her when he came.

 She cradled him to her, grateful for his warmth in the chilling apartment, until he came back to himself. His mouth sought hers in a lazy journey across her cheek until they were kissing and kissing and then kissing more and more and more. She couldn’t get enough of him. He surrounded her, made her feel like she’d found everything she needed, and grounded her to the present.

 “I love you,” he mumbled against her lips. “I’m so sorry for leaving you.”

 She whimpered, both at his words, and him pulling out of her, but that turned to a forceful howl when he sank to his knees in front of her. She spread her legs further, and he leaned forward. Falling back on the table, she pressed her eyes closed and allowed herself to float. His tongue and fingers and lips and facial hair all worked to drive her over the edge, and she gripped the edge of the table as an orgasm rushed through her. Panting, she begged him to keep going.

 He took his time, nuzzling against her until she writhed under him. He prodded her legs into different positions, interspersed sucking on her clit with shoving his fingers inside her until she was wailing. She couldn’t control the sounds that poured from her any more than she could stop from climaxing multiple times as he took her apart.

 She lost track of time, of her name, of her roles and responsibilities. Nothing mattered but him on her, connected and intertwined in a way she always wanted them to be, that they’d never quite managed when they held back from each other. For the first time in ages, she felt he was completely open to her, and she responded in kind. Any inhibitions she still held fell away, and she ground against his face harder and harder.

 “Josh, I need more,” she whined, desperate for him to be inside her again.

 He stumbled to his feet and scooped her from the table. Half-carrying, half-supporting her, he walked them across the room to the ratty couch in the living room. Woozily, she glanced at the rumpled blankets and sheets where he’d obviously been sleeping and sank onto his lap when he sat.

 “You deserve so much better than a shitty couch in a rundown apartment. I’m sorry—”

 “Stop apologizing,” she slurred and kissed him. “I forgive you. I love you, too. Now, fuck me.”

 Josh buried his face in her neck and guided her thighs to the outside of his. She sank onto him and rocked her hips, meeting his stroke with hers. She rode him, then, bouncing and moaning his name, clutching his hair and raking her nails down his back as they raced to the finish. They reached it together, clinging to each other as they panted each other’s names. Her back bowed, and she dove over the edge, reaching for him, clinging to the man she’d met so many years ago, who’d helped her discover who she really was, what she believed in, and how she could fight for those principles. She didn’t want anyone else to take his place, and this time she’d battle for him as long as she needed to keep him by her side.

 When they finished, they lay together, hearts beating rapidly, and caressed every inch of bare skin they could reach. They made promises and plans, both grandiose and mundane, but most importantly, they made a pledge.

 Despite everything, there wouldn’t be the end of love. Instead, they were at the beginning.